THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS 


BY 


ABBY    MORTON    DIAZ 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


CHICAGO 

THE  INTERSTATE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

BOSTON  :    30    FRANKLIN   STREET 


COPYRIGHT,  1886, 

BY 

INTERSTATE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


EDITOE'S  INTRODUCTION. 

MY  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIENDS:  — 

Much  to  my  surprise,  I  was  asked  one  day  if  I 
would  be  willing  to  edit  the  William  Henry  Letters 
for  publication  in  a  volume. 

At  first  it  seemed  impossible  for  me  to  do  anything  of 
the  kind ;  "  for,"  said  I,  "  how  can  any  one  edit  who 
is  not  an  editor  ?  Besides,  I  am  not  enough  used  to 
writing."  It  was  then  explained  to  me  that  my  duties 
would  simply  be  to  collect  and  arrange  the  Letters,  and 
furnish  any  little  items  concerning  William  Henry  and 
his  home  which  might  interest  the  reader.  It  was  also 
hinted,  in  the  mildest  manner  possible,  that  I  was  not 
chosen  for  this  office  on  account  of  my  talents,  or  my 
learning,  or  my  skill  in  writing;  but  wholly  because 
of  my  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  two  families  at 
Summer  Sweeting  place,  —  for  I  have  at  times  lived 
dose  by  them  for  weeks  together,  and  have  taken 
tea  quite  often  both  at  Grandmother's  and  at  Aunt 
Phebe's. 

After  a  brief  consideration  of  the  proposal,  I  agreed 
to  undertake  the  task ;  at  the  same  time  wishing  a  more 
experienced  editor  could  have  been  found. 

1  A 


622831 


2  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

My  acquaintance  with  the  families  commenced  just 
about  the  time  of  William  Henry's  going  to  school,  and 
in  rather  a  curious  way. 

I  was  then  (and  am  now)  much  interested  in  the 
Freedmen.  While  serving  in  the  Army  of  the  Poto- 
mac, I  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  them,  and  was  con- 
nected with  a  hospital  in  Washington  at  the  time  when 
they  were  pouring  into  that  city,  hungry  and  sick,  and 
half-naked.  I  belonged  to  several  Freedmen's  So- 
cieties, and  had  just  then  pledged  myself  to  beg  a  bar- 
relful  of  old  clothing  to  send  South. 

But  this  I  found  was,  for  an  unmarried  man,  having 
few  acquaintances  in  the  town,  a  very  rash  promise.  I 
had  no  idea  that  one  barrel  could  hold  so  much.  The 
pile  of  articles  collected  seemed  to  me  immense.  I  won- 
dered what  I  should  do  with  them  all.  But  when  packed 
away  there  was  room  left  for  certainly  a  third  as  many 
more ;  and  I  had  searched  thoroughly  the  few  garrets 
in  which  right  of  search  was  allowed  me.  Even  in  those, 
I  could  only  glean  after  other  barrel-fillers.  A  great 
many  garrets  yielded  up  their  treasures  during  the  war  ; 
for  "  Old  clo' !  old  clo' ! "  was  the  cry  then  all  over  the 
North. 

Now,  as  I  was  sitting  one  afternoon  by  my  barrel, 
wishing  it  were  full,  it  happened  that  I  looked  down  into 
the  street,  and  saw  there  my  unknown  friend,  waiting 
patiently  in  his  empty  cart.  This  unknown  friend  was 
a  tall,  high-shouldered  man,  who  drove  in,  occasionally, 
with  vegetables.  There  were  other*  who  came  in  with 
vegetables  also,  and  oftener  than  he;  but  this  one  I  had 
particularly  noticed,  partly  because  of  his  bright,  good- 


EDITOR'S   INTRODUCTION.  3 

/ 

humored  face,  and  partly  because  his  horse  had  always  a 
flower,  or  a  sprig  of  something  green,  stuck  in  the  har- 
ness. 

At  first  I  had  only  glanced  at  him  now  and  then  in 
the  crowd.  Then  I  found  myself  watching  for  his  blue 
cart,  and  next  I  began  to  wonder  where  he  came  from, 
and  what  kind  of  people  his  folks  were.  He  joked 
with  the  grocery-men,  threw  apples  at  the  little  ragged 
street  children,  and  coaxed  along  his  old  horse  in  a  sort 
of  friendly  way  that  was  quite  amusing.  And  though 
I  had  never  spoken  a  word  to  him,  nor  he  to  me,  I 
called  him  my  unknown  friend,  for  a  sight  of  him  al- 
ways did  me  good. 

It  was  a  bony  old  gray  horse  that  he  drove,  with  a  long 
neck  poking  way  ahead ;  and  the  man  was  a  farmer- 
like  man,  and  wore  farmer-like  clothes ;  but  he  had  a 
pleasant,  twinkling  eye,  and  the  horse,  as  I  said  before, 
was  seldom  without  a  flower  or  bit  of  green  stuck  behind 
his  ear  or  somewhere  else  about  the  harness. 

And  often,  when  the  town  was  hot  and  dusty,  and  busi- 
ness people  were  mean,  I  would  say  to  myself,  as  my 
friend  drove  past  on  his  way  home,  How  I  should  like 
to  ride  out  with  him,  no  matter  where,  if 't  is  only  where 
they  have  flowers  and  green  things  growing  in  the 
garden ! 

On  this  particular  afternoon,  as  I  have  said,  I  ob- 
served my  friend  sitting  quietly  in  his  cart,  "bound  out," 
as  the  fishei-men  say,  —  sitting  becalmed,  waiting  for 
something  ahead  to  get  started. 

It  happened  that  I  was  just  then  feeling  very  sen- 
sibly the  heat  and  confinement  of  the  town,  and  was 


4  THE  WILLIAM  HOST  LETTOS. 

awre  than  usually  weary  of  basin  ess  ways  and  tunlncnn 
people ;  actually  pining  lor  the  balmy  air  of  pine  woods 
aiid  the  breath  of  flowery  fields.  And  perhaps,  though:  I. 
my  friend  may  fire  among  warm-hearted  country  folk, 
who  will  be  delighted  to  give  to  my  poor  contrabands, 
and  whose  garrets  no  barrelman  has  jet  eipior 

Sa  gi«ng  a  second  look,  and  seeing  that  be  still  >at 
there,  patiently  awaiting  his  turn,  I  ran  down,  without 
stopping  to  think  more  about  it,  and  asked  it'  I  n 
ride  oat  with  him. 

**  O  yes.  Jump  in-?  jump  in  I "  said  he,  in  the  pleas- 
antest  mMM***-  possible ;  then  he  offered  me  hi>  cush- 
ion, and  began  to  double  up  an  empty  bag  for  hinvetf. 

~  No,  no,     Give  me  the  bag,*  said  I ;  and  foldii  _ 
laid  it  on  the  board,  just  to  take  off  the  edge  of  the 
jolting  a  little.     And  my  seat  seemed  a  charming  one, 
after  having  been  perched  up  on  an  office-stool  so  1< 

That  cushion  of  his  took  my  eye  at  once.  It  looked 
as  if  it  came  oat  of  a  rocking-chair.  The  covering  was 
of  black  doth,  worked  in  a  very  old-fashioned  way.  with 
pinks  and  tulips.  The  colors  were  faded,  but  it  had  a 
homespun,  comfortable,  countrified  look ;  in  fact,  the  first 
glance  at  that  queer  old  cushion  assured  me  that  I  was 
going  to  exactly  the  right  place. 

Presently  we  got  started,  and  certainly  I  never  had  a 
better  ride,  nor  one  with  a  pleasanter  companion.     He 
asked  me  all  sorts  of  funny  questions  about  elect  r" 
and  oxygen,  and  flying-machines,  and  the  telegraph,  and 
the  moon  and  stars. 

u  Now  you  are  a  learned  man,  I  *nppo«e."  -aid  he ; 
"and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  that  golden-rod  gt. 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  5 

yellow  out  of  black  ground."  I  said  I  was  not  a  learned 
man  at  all,  and  I  did  n't  believe  learned  men  themselves 
could  tell  how  it  got  its  yellow,  and  the  asters  their  pur- 
ple, and  the  succory  its  blue,  and  the  everlasting  its 
white,  all  out  of  the  same  black  ground.  He  said  he 
was  pretty  sure  his  wife  could  n't  boil  up  a  kettleful  and 
color  either  of  those  colors  from  them. 

So  we  went  talking  on.  He  asked  me  where  I  'd  been 
stopping,  and  what  I  did  for  a  living.  And  I  told  him 
what  I  did  for  a  living,  and  all  about  soldier  life,  and  the 
contrabands,  and  about  my  barrel.  Our  road  led  through 
woods  part  of  the  way,  and  I  drew  in  long  breaths  of 
woody  air.  He  told  me  a  funny  woodchuck  story,  and 
had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  wood-lots,  —  how  some 
rich  men  formerly  owned  great  tracts,  but  becoming  poor 
were  forced  to  sell ;  and  how,  when  pines  were  cut  off, 
oaks  grew  up  in  their  place.  And  among  other  things 
he  told  me  that  a  hardback  would  turn  into  a  huckleberry- 
bush.  I  said  that  seemed  like  a  miracle.  He  was  go- 
ing on  to  tell  me  about  one  that  he  had  watched,  but  just 
then  we  turned  into  a  pleasant,  shady  lane. 

We  had  n't  gone  far  down  this  shady  lane  before  we 
heard  a  loud  screaming  behind  us,  and  looking  round 
saw  a  small  boy  caught  fast  in  the  bushes  by  the  skirt 
of  his  frock. 

"  Do  you  see  that  little  boy  ?  "  I  asked. 

';  O  yes,  I  see  him,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  Hullo,  Tom- 
my !  what  you  staying  there  for?" 

The  boy  kept  on  crying. 

"  What  you  waiting  for  ? "  he  called  out  again,  just 
as  if  he  could  n't  see  that  the  bushes  would  not  let  the 
child  stir. 


6  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

We  found  out  afterwards  that  little  Tommy  had  hid 
there  to  jump  out  and  scare  his  fattier,  but  got  caught  by 
the  briers.  I  went  to  untangle  him,  —  his  clothes  had 
several  rents,  —  and  was  going  to  put  him  in  the  cart ; 
but  he  would  get  in  "  his  own  self,"  he  said.  Then  he 
stopped  crying,  and  wanted  to  drive.  His  father  said, 
"  No,  not  till  we  get  through  the  bars." 

Then  Tommy  began  again.  And  at  last  he  said,  half 
crying  and  half  talking,  "  When  I  'm  —  the  —  father, 
and  you  'm  —  the  —  ittle  Tommy  —  you  can't  —  drive 
—  my  —  horse  !  " 

His  father  laughed  and  said :  "  Well,  when  I  'm  the 
little  Tommy,  I  '11  brush  the  snarls  off  my  face  —  so,  and 
throw  them  under  the  wheels  —  so,  and  let  'em  get  run 
over ! " 

This  made  Tommy  laugh,  and  very  soon  after  we 
came  to  the  bars. 

I  looked  ahead  and  saw  a  neat  white  house,  not  very 
large,  with  green  blinds  and  a  piazza,  where  flowering 
plants  were  climbing.  There  was  a  garden  on  one  side 
and  an  orchard  on  the  other.  Just  across  the  garden 
stood  an  old,  brown,  unpainted  house.  There  were  tall 
apple-trees  growing  near  it,  that  looked  about  a  hundred 
years  old.  My  friend,  Uncle  Jacob,  —  I  've  heard  him 
called  Uncle  Jacob  so  much  since  that  I  really  don't 
know  how  to  put  a  Mister  to  his  name,  —  said  those 
were  Summer  Sweeting  trees,  that  had  pretty  nigh  done 
bearing.  He  said  there  used  to  be  Summer  Sweeting 
trees  growing  all  about  there  ;  and  that  when  he  took  part 
of  the  place,  and  built  him  a  house,  he  cut  down  the 
ones  on  his  land,  and  set  out  Baldwins  and  Tallmans  and 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  7 

Porters  ;  but  his  mother  kept  her's  for  the  good  they  had 
done,  and  for  the  sake  of  what  few  apples  they  did  bear, 
to  give  away  to  the  children. 

The  houses  had  their  backs  towards  me,  and  I  was 
glad  of  that,  for  I  always  like  back  doors  better  than 
front  ones. 

Uncle  Jacob  whistled,  and  I  saw  a  blind  fly  open,  and 
a  handkerchief  wave  from  an  upper  window,  where  two 
girls  were  sitting.  Uncle  Jacob's  wife  stepped  to  the 
door  and  waved  a  sun-bonnet,  and  then  stepped  back 
again. 

"  Here,  Tommy,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  "  you  carry  in  the 
magazine  to  Lucy  Maria,  and  here 's  Matilda's  gum- 
arabic.  I  don't  see  where  Towser  is." 

I  jumped  out,  and  said  I  guessed  I  would  keep  on ; 
for  I  began  to  feel  bashful  about  seeing  so  many  women- 
folks. 

"  Where  you  going  to  keep  on  to  ? "  Uncle  Jacob 
asked.  "  This  road  don't  go  any  farther." 

I  said  I  would  walk  across  the  fields  to  the  next  vil- 
lage and  find  a  hotel. 

"  0  no,"  said  he,  "  stay  here.  Grandmother  '11  be  glad 
enough  to  hear  about  the  contrabands.  She  '11  knit 
stockings,  and  pick  up  a  good  deal  about  the  house  to 
send  off.  And  I  want  to  ask  much  as  five  hundred 
questions  more  about  matters  and  things  myself.  Come, 
stay.  Yes,  we  '11  give  you  a  good  supper,  a  first-rate 
supper.  Don't  be  afraid.  My  wife  '11  —  There !  I 
forgot  her  errand,  now  !  But  if  you  —  Whoa !  whoa  ! 
Georgiana,  take  this  pattern  in  to  your  Aunt  Phebe, 
and  tell  her  T  forgot  to  see  if  I  could  match  it ;  but  I 
don't  believe  the  man  had  anv  like  it." 


8  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Georgians  was  a  nice  little  girl  that  just  then  came 
running  across  the  garden,  —  William  Henry's  sister,  as 
I  learned  afterwards. 

Just  then  Aunt  Phebe  stepped  to  the  door  again. 

"  Here  are  two  hungry  travellers,"  said  Uncle  Jacob, 
"  and  one  of!  us  is  bashful." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  very  cheerily,  "  if  anybody 
is  hungry,  this  is  just  the  right  place.  How  do  you  do, 
sir?  Come  right  in.  We  live  so  out  of  the  way  we 
're  always  glad  of  company.  Father,  can't  you  intro- 
duce your  friend  ?  " 

"Well  —  no —  I  can't,"  said  he.  "  But  I  guess  he  '& 
brother  to  the  President !  " 

I  said  my  name  was  Fry. 

Aunt  Phebe  said  her  father  had  a  cousin  that  married 
a  Fry,  and  asked  what  my  mother's  maiden  name  was. 
I  told  her  my  mother  was  a  Young,  and  that  I  was 
named  for  my  father  and  mother  both,  —  Silas  Young 
Fry. 

I  heard  a  tittering  overhead,  behind  a  pair  of  blinds, 
where  I  guessed  some  girls  were  peeping  through.  And 
afterwards,  when  I  was  sitting  on  the  piazza,  I  heard 
one  tell  another,  not  thinking  I  was  within  hearing,  that 
a  young  fry  had  come  to  supper. 

When  we  all  sat  round  the  table  the  girls  seemed  full 
of  tickle,  which  they  tried  to  hide,  —  and  one  of  them 
asked  me,  —  I  think  it  was  Hannah  Jane,  —  with  a 
very  sober  face,  — 

"  Mr.  Fry,  will  you  take  some  fried  fish  ?  " 

I  laughed  and  said,  "  No,  I  never  take  anything  fried." 

Then  we  all  laughed  together,  and  so  got  acquainted 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  9 

very  pleasantly  ;  for  I  have  observed  that  a  little  ripple 
of  fun  sets  people  nearer  together  than  a  whole  ocean 
of  calm  conversation. 

After  supper  Uncle  Jacob  read  the  paper  aloud,  while 
die  girls  washed  up  the  dishes.  All  were  eager  to  hear ; 
arid  I  found  they  kept  the  run  of  affairs  quite  as  well  as 
townspeople.  When  there  was  too  much  rattling  of  dishes 
for  Uncle  Jacob  to  be  heard,  and  the  girls  lost  some  impor- 
tant item,  he  was  always  willing  to  read  it  over.  Little 
Tommy  was  rolled  up  in  a  shawl  and  set  down  in  the 
rocking-chair  (that  cushion  did  come  out  of  it)  while 
his  mother  mended  his  clothes.  This  was  the  way  he 
usually  got  punished  for  tearing  them.  He  was  done 
up  in  a  shawl,  arms  and  all,  and  kept  in  the  rocking- 
chair  while  the  clothes  were  being  mended,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  remain  pretty  quiet,  or  the  chair  would  tip. 
Aunt  Phebe  said  Tommy  was  so  careless,  something 
must  be  done,  and  keeping  him  still  was  the  worst  pun- 
ishment he  could  have. 

When  the  girls  finished  their  dishes  and  took  out  their 
sewing,  and  were  going  to  light  the  large  lamp,  their 
mother  said  that  we  must  n't  think  of  settling  ourselves 
for  the  evening.  She  said  we  must  all  go  in  to  grand- 
mother's, for  she'd  be  dreadful  lonely,  missing  Billy  so. 

Then  Aunt  Phebe  told  me  how  her  nephew,  Billy,  a 
ten-year  old  boy,  had  gone  away  to  school  only  the  day 
before,  and  how  they  all  missed  him. 

"  Is  n't  he  pretty  young  to  go  away  to  school  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That 's  what  I  told  his  father,"  said  she. 

"  His  father  sent  him  away  to  keep  him,"  said  Uncle 
Jacob.     "  Grandmother  was  spoiling  him." 
1* 


10  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

"  Ruining  the  boy  with  kindness  ?  "  said  Lucy  Maria. 

"  A  Veil,"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  "  I  suppose  't  was  so.  I 
know  'twas  so.  But  we  did  hate  to  have  Billy  go!  " 

Uucle  Jacob  then  took  me  across  the  garden,  and  in- 
troduced me  to  Mr.  Carver,  the  father  of  William  Henry, 
and  to  Grandmother,  —  old  Mrs.  Carver,  as  the  neigh- 
bors called  her. 

She  was  a  smiling,  blue-eyed  old  lady,  though  with  a 
little  bit  of  an  anxious  look  just  between  the  eyes.  I 
thought  there  was  no  doubt  about  her  being  a  grand- 
mother that  would  spoil  boys. 

"  Why,  there 's  Towser,  now  ?  "  said  Uncle  Jacob. 
"  He  did  n't  come  to  meet  me  to-night." 

"  He  's  been  there,  off  and  on,  pretty  much  all  day," 
said  grandmother.  "  You  see  what  he 's  got  his  head  on, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  Billy's  old  boots  !  "  said  Uncle  Jacob. 

"  Yes.  He  set  a  good  deal  by  Billy.  I  have  n't  put 
the  boots  away  yet,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Here,  Towser  !  come  here,  sir  !"  cried  Uncle  Jacob. 

Towser  was  a  big,  shaggy,  clever-looking  dog.  He 
got  up  slowly,  sniffed  at  my  trousers,  then  walked  to 
Uncle  Jacob,  then  round  the  room,  then  to  the  door,  then 
up  stairs  and  down  again,  and  then  back  he  went  and 
lay  down  by  the  boots. 

"  He  misses  my  grandson,"  said  grandmother  to  me, 
trying  to  smile  about  it. 

The  little  girl,  Georgiana,  sat  on  a  cricket,  holding  a 
kitten,  tying  and  untying  its  ribbon.  A  square  of  patch- 
work had  fallen  on  the  floor.  She  stooped  to  pick  it  up 
and  dropped  her  spool.  That  rolled  away  towards  the 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  11 

door,  and  kitty  jumped  for  it  and  soon  got  the  thread  in 
a  tangle.  The  door  opened  so  suddenly  that  she  hopped 
up  about  two  feet  into  the  air  and  tumbled  head  over 
heels. 

It  was  Lucy  Maria  who  opened  the  door.  The  other 
girls  came  soon  after  ;  and  when  Tommy  was  asleep  Aunt 
Phebe  came  too.  We  had  a  very  sociable  time.  I  don't 
call  myself  a  talker,  but  I  did  n't  mind  talking  there,  they 
seemed  so  easy,  just  like  one's  own  folks.  I  told  grand- 
mother many  things  about  the  contrabands,  and  about 
Southern  life,  and  Southern  people,  and  about  soldier 
life  and  battles  and  rations  and  making  raids,  and  the 
Washington  hospitals,  and  how  needy  the  contrabands 
were,  and  about  my  barrel.  "  Poor  creatures  !  "  said 
she.  "  I  must  look  up  some  things  for  them  to-morrow." 
Aunt  Phebe  thought  there  might  be  a  good  many  things 
lying  about  that  would  be  of  use  to  folks  who  had  n't 
anything. 

"  Billy's  boots  !  "  cried  Hannah  Jane. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  her  mother,  "  no  use  keeping  boots 
for  a  growing  boy." 

This  and  other  remarks  brought  us  back  to  William 
Henry  again,  and  grandmother  seemed  glad  of  it.  She 
liked  to  keep  talking  about  her  boy. 

"  I  shall  feel  very  anxious,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  he  will 
write  soon  as  he  gets  there.  I  told  him  he  'd  better 
write  every  day,  so  I  could  be  sure  just  how  he  was. 
For  if  well  one  day,  he  might  n't  be  the  next. 

"  O  grandmother,  that 's  too  bad ! "  said  Lucy  Maria. 
"  'Tis  cruel  to  ask  a  boy  to  write  every  day ! " 

"  I  would  n't  worry,  mother,"  said  Aunt  Phebe.  "  Billy 
'&  always  been  a  well  child. " 


12  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

"  These  strong  constitutions,"  said  grandmother, "  when 
they  do  take  anything,  't  is  apt  to  go  hard  with  'em." 

"  He 's  taken  pretty  much  everything  that  can  be 
given  to  him  already,"  said  Aunt  Phebe. 

"  I  suppose  they  '11  put  clothes  enough  on  his  bed," 
said  grandmother.  "  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  his  sleeping 
cold  nights." 

"  Perhaps  they  have  blankets  in  that  part  of  the 
country,"  said  Uncle  Jacob. 

"  But  people  are  not  always  thoughtfu/.  about  it,"  said 
grandmother.  "  I  really  hope  he  '11  take  care  of  himself, 
and  not  be  climbing  up  everywhere.  Houses  and  trees 
were  bad  enough ;  but  now  they  have  gymnastic  poles 
and  everything  else,  to  tempt  boys  off  the  ground.  O 
dear !  when  we  think  of  everything  that  might  happen  to 
boys,  't  is  a  wonder  one  of  them  ever  lives  to  grow  up. 
Is  n't  there  a  pond  near  by  ?  " 

"  O  yes,"  said  Lucy  Maria,  "  Crooked  Pond.  That 's 
what  gives  the  name  to  the  school,  —  Crooked  Pond 
School." 

"  I  hope  he  won't  be  whipped,"  said  his  little  sister. 

"  Whipped  !  "  cried  Aunt  Phebe,  "  I  should  like  to  see 
anybody  whipping  our  Billy  !  " 

"  O  mother,  I  should  n't,"  said  Matilda. 

"  'T  is  n't  an  impossible  thing,"  said  grandmother. 
"  He  's  quick.  Billy  's  good-hearted,  but  he  's  quick. 
He  might  speak  up.  I  gave  him  a  charge  how  to 
behave.  But  then,  what 's  a  boy's  memory  ?  I  don't 
suppose  he. '11  remember  one  half  the  things  I  told  him. 
I  meant  to  have  charged  him  over  again,  the  last  thing, 
not  to  stay  out  in  the  rain  and  get  wet,  where  there  's  no- 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  13 

"  Well,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  "  if  a  boy  does  n't  know 
enough  to  go  into  the  house  when  it  rains,  he  better 
come  home  ?  " 

"  What  I  hope  is,"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  "  that  he  '11  keep 
himself  looking  decent."  . 

"  If  he  does,"  said  Lucy  Maria,  "  then  't  will  be  the 
first  time.  The  poor  child  never  seemed  to  have  much 
luck  about  keeping  spruced  up.  If  anybody  here  ever 
saw  William  Henry  with  no  buttons  off  and  both  shoes 
tied,  and  no  rip  anywhere,  let  'em  raise  their  hands  ! " 

Everybody  laughed.  I  thought  grandmother's  eye 
wandered  round  the  circle,  as  if  half  taking  it  all  in 
earnest,  and  half  hoping  some  hand  would  go  up.  But 
no  hand  went  up. 

"  Billy  always  was  hard  on  his  clothes,"  she  said,  with 
a  sigh.  "  If  he  only  keeps  well  I  won't  say  a  word ; 
but  there's  always  danger  of  boys  eating  unwholesome 
things,  where  there 's  nobody  to  deny  them." 

"  Billy's  stomach 's  his  own,  and  he  must  learn  to  have 
the  care  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Carver. 

Mr.  Carver  seemed  a  very  quiet,  thoughtful  man,  and 
of  quite  a  different  turn  from  his  brother. 

I  suggested  that  boarding-house  diet  was  apt  to  be 
plain ;  and  then  told  grandmother  about  a  nephew  of 
mine,  a  nice  boy,  who  was  rather  older  than  her  grand- 
son, who  was  named  after  me,  and  of  whom  I  thought 
everything.  I  told  her  he  had  been  away  at  school  a 
year,  and  that  he  enjoyed  himself,  and  went  ahead  in  his 
studies,  and  never  had  a  sick  day,  and  came  home  with 
better  manners  than  he  had  when  he  went  away.  As 
this  pleased  her,  I  said  everything  I  could  think  of  about 


14  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

my  nephew,  including  some  anecdotes  of  little  Silas,  when 
he  was  quite  small ;  and  she  told  a  few  about  William 
Henry,  the  others  helping  her  out,  now  and  then,  with 
some  missing  items. 

Uncle  Jacob  said  he  should  n't  dare  to  say  how  many 
times  she'd  been  frightened  almost  to  death  about  Billy. 
Many  and  many  a  time  she  was  sure  he  was  lost,  or 
drowned,  or  run  over,  or  carried  off,  and  would  never 
come  back  alive ;  but  he  always  managed  to  come  out 
straight  at  last.  Uncle  Jacob  said  that  if  all  the  worry 
that  was  worried  in  this  world  were  piled  up  together, 
't  would  make  a  mountain ;  but  if  all  of  it  that  need  n't 
be  worried  were  knocked  off,  what  was  left  would  n't  be 
bigger  than  a  huckleberry  hill. 

Mr.  Carver  said  there  was  one  thing  which  made  him 
entirely  willing  to  trust  William  Henry  away,  and  that 
was,  he  had  always  been  a  boy  of  principle.  "  I  have 
watched  him  pretty  closely,"  said  Mr.  Carver,  "and  have 
noticed  that  he  has  a  kind  of  pride  about  him  that  wil\ 
not  permit  him  to  lie,  or  equivocate  in  any  way. 

"  That 's  true  !"  cried  Aunt  Phebe.  "True  enough! 
Billy  don't  always  look  fit  to  be  seen,  but  he  is  n't  deceit- 
ful. I  '11  say  that  for  him  !  " 

"  When  he  went  to  our  school,"  said  Matilda,  "  and 
was  in  the  class  below  me,  and  there  was  a  fuss  among 
the  boys,  and  all  of  'em  told  it  a  different  way,  the  teacher 
used  to  say  she  would  ask  William  Henry,  and  then  she 
could  tell  just  how  it  happened." 

"  He  could  n't  have  a  better  name  than  that,"  said  Mr. 
Carver. 

Grandmother  wiped  her  eyes,  she  seemed  so  gratified 
that  her  boy's  good  qualities  were  remembered  at  last. 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  15 

I  am  almost  certain  that  an  editor  should  not  be  so 
long  in  telling  his  story.  But  I  should  like  to  say  a 
little  more  about  that  first  night,  —  just  a  very  little 
more. 

Grandmother  would  n't  hear  of  my  going  to  a  hotel. 
Anybody  that  had  been  a  soldier,  and  was  doing  good, 
should  never  go  from  her  house  to  find  a  night's  lodging. 
And  she  might  as  well  have  said,  particularly  anybody 
that  had  a  little  Silas  away  at  school,  for  I  saw  she  felt  it. 

It  required  very  little  urging  to  make  me  stay ;  for 
in  all  my  travels  I  had  never  met  with  a  pleasanter  set 
of  people.  My  choice  was  offered  me,  whether  to  lodge 
in  the  front  chamber,  or  in  the  little  back  chamber  where 
Billy  slept.  Of  course  I  chose  the  last ;  for  people's  best, 
front,  spare  chambers  never  suit  me  very  well. 

Billy's  room  was  a  snug  little  room,  low  in  the  walls, 
and  papered  with  flowery  paper.  There  were  two  win- 
dows, the  curtains  to  which  were  made  of  paper  like  that 
on  the  walls.  You  had  to  roll  them  up  with  your  hands, 
and  tie  them  with  a  string  that  went  over  the  top.  The 
room  was  over  the  sink-room,  and  in  going  into  it  we 
stepped  one  step  down.  There  was  no  carpet  on  the 
floor,  excepting  a  strip  by  the  bedside  and  a  mat  before 
the  table.  Grandmother  said  the  table  Billy  and  she 
made  together,  so  the  legs  didn't  stand  quite  true.  It 
was  covered  with  calico,  and  more  calico  was  puckered 
on  round  the  edge  and  came  down  to  the  floor.  That 
was  done,  she  said,  to  make  a  place  for  his  boots  and 
shoes.  She  thought  't  was-  well  for  a  boy  to  have  a 
place  for  his  things,  even  if  he  did  always  leave  them 


16 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 


somewhere  else.  There  was  nothing  under  the  table 
but  one  rubber  boot,  with  the  rubber  mostly  cut  off,  and 
some  pieces  of  new  pine,  easy  to  whittle,  that  Billy  had 
picked  up  and  stowed  away  there.  A  narrow  looking- 
glass  hung  over  the  table.  It  had  a  queer  picture  nt 
the  top,  of  two  Japanese  figures.  The  glass  had  a  little 


crack  in  one  corner,  —  cracked  by  his  ball  bouncing 
up  when  he  was  trying  it.  Some  green  tissue-paper 
hung  around  this  fracture  with  a  very  innocent,  orna- 
mental air.  Not  far  from  the  glass  I  observed  a  rusty 
jack-knife  stuck  in  the  wall,  close  to  the  window-frame  ; 
and  on  its  handle  was  hanging  a  string  of  birds' -eggs. 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  17 

In  stepping  up  to  examine  these  I  stumbled  against  an 
old  hair-covered  trunk,  quite  a  large  one.  The  cover 
seemed  a  little  askew,  and  not  inclined  to  shut.  This 
trunk  was  the  color  of  a  red  cow,  and  for  aught  I  know 
was  covered  with  the  skin  of  a  red  cow.  In  the  middle 
of  the  cover  the  letters  W.  C.  were  printed  in  brass  nails, 
which  led  me  to  guess  that  the  trunk  had  belonged 
to  William  Henry's  father.  Grandmother  raised  the 
cover,  to  see  what  kept  it  from  shutting,  and  found  't  was 
a  great  scraggly  piece  of  sassafras  (saxifax)  root,  which 
lay  on  top. 

There  was  everything  in  that  trunk,  —  everything.  Of 
course  I  don't  mean  meeting-houses,  or  steamboats,  or  an- 
acondas ;  but  everything  a  boy  would  be  likely  to  have. 
I  saw  picture  papers,  leather  straps,  old  pocket-books,  a 
pair  of  dividers,  the  hull  of  a  boat,  a  pair  of  boot-puller.-, 
a  chrysalis,  several  penholders,  a  large  clam-shell,  a  few 
pocket  combs,  —  comb  parts  gone,  —  fishing-lines,  reels, 
bobs,  sinkers,  a  bullet-mould,  arrows,  a  bag  of  marbles, 
a  china  egg,  a  rule,  hammers,  a  red  comforter,  two  odd 
mittens,  "  that  had  lost  the  mates  of  'em,"  a  bird-call,  a 
mask,  an  empty  cologne-bottle,  a  dime  novel,  odd  cards, 
—  all  these,  and  more,  were  visible  by  merely  stirring 
the  top  layer  a  little.  Also  several  tangles  of  twine, 
twining  and  intertwining  among  the  mass.  Grandmother 
shook  up  the  things  some,  — by  means  of  a  handle  which 
probably  belonged  to  a  hatchet,  but  the  hatchet  part  was 
buried,  —  and  I  saw  that  the  bottom  was  covered  with 
marbles,  dominos,  nails,  bottles,  slate-pencils,  bits  of  brass 
clock  machinery,  and  all  the  innumerable  nameless,  shape- 
less things  which  would  be  likely  to  settle  down  to  the 


18  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

bottom  of  a  boy's  trunk.  Grandmother  said  she  should 
set  it  to  rights  if  it  were  n't  for  fish-hooks  ;  but  anybody's 
hands  going  in  there  would  be  likely  to  get  fish-hooks 
stuck  into  them. 

In  one  end  of  the  trunk  was  quite  a  fanciful  box.  It 
was  nothing  but  a  common  pine  box,  painted  black,  with 
"  cut  out "  pictures  pasted  on  it.  There  were  ladies' 
faces,  generals'  heads,  bugs,  horses,  butterflies,  chairs, 
ships,  birds,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  cover,  outside,  there 
was  a  large  red  rose  on  its  stalk.  At  the  centre,  inside, 
was  a  laughing,  or  rather  a  grinning  face,  cut  from  some 
comic  magazine.  In  this  box  was  kept  some  of  his  more 
precious  treasures,  —  a  little  brass  anchor,  a  silver  pencil- 
case,  a  whole  set  of  dominos,  and  a  ball,  very  prettily 
worked,  orange-peel  pattern,  in  many  colors.  This  was 
a  present  from  his  teacher.  There  was  also  a  curious 
pearl-handled  knife,  with  the  blades  broken  short  oiF. 
She  said  he  never  felt  so  badly  about  breaking  any  knife 
as  when  that  got  broken,  for  it  was  one  his  cousin  brought 
him  home  from  sea.  He  was  keeping  it  to  have  new 
blades  put  in. 

"  How  much  this  trunk  reminds  me  of  little  Silas's  bu- 
reau-drawer ! "  I  said,  taking  up  an  old  writing-book. 
As  I  spoke  several  bits  of  paper  fell  out  and  among 
them  were  some  very  funny  pictures,  done  with  a  lead- 
pencil  and  then  inked  over. 

"  What  are  these  ?  "  I  asked.     "  Does  he  draw  ?  " 

"  Well  —  not  exactly,"  she  answered,  —  "  nothing  that 
can  be  called  drawing.  He  tries  sometimes  to  copy  what 
he  sees." 

"  I  suppose  I  may  look  at  them,"  I  said,  picking  up 
•ne  of  the  bits  of  paper.  "  Pray  what  is  this  ?  " 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  19 

Grandmother  put  on  her  spectacles,  and  turned  the 
paper  round,  as  if  trying  to  find  the  up  and  down  of  it. 


"  0,  this  is  Uncle  Jacob  chasing  the  calf,"  said  she ; 
"  those  things  that  look  like  elbows  are  meant  for  his 
legs  kicking  up.  And  on  this  piece  he  's  tried  to  make 
the  old  gobbler  flying  at  Georgiana.  You  see  the  tur- 
key is  as  big  as  she  is.  But  maybe  you  don't  know 
which  the  turkey  is !  That  one  is  the  fat  man,  and  that 
one  is  the  cat  and  kittens.  And  that  one  is  a  dandy, 
making  a  bow.  He  saw  one  over  at  the  hotel  that  he 
took  it  from." 

She  was  sitting  by  the  bed,  and  as  she  named  them, 
spread  them  out  upon  it,  one  by  one,  along  with  some 
others  I  have  not  mentioned,  all  very  comical.  When  I 
had  finished  laughing  over  them  I  said,  — 

"  I  should  like  to  send  these  pictures  in  my  barrel. 
'T  would  give  the  little  sick  contrabands  something  to 
laugh  at." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  Billy  when  he  comes,"  she  answered^ 
then  gathered  them  up  and  smoothed  the  quilt  again. 


20  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

The  bedstead  was  a  low  one,  without  any  posts,  except 
that  each  leg  ended  at  the  top  with  a  little  round,  flat  head 
or  knob.  The  quilt  was  made  of  light  and  dark  patch- 
work. Grandmother  told  me,  lowering  her  voice,  tliat 
Billy's  mother  made  that  patchwork  when  she  was  a  little 
girl  just  learning  to  sew ;  but 't  was  kept  laid  away,  and 
about  the  last  work  she  ever  did  was  to  set  it  together. 
And  't  was  her  request  that  Billy  should  have  it  on  his 
bed.  She  said  Billy  was  a  very  feeling  boy,  though  he 
did  n't  say  much.  One  time,  a  couple  years  ago,  she 
hung  that  quilt  out  to  blow,  and  forgot  to  take  it  in  till 
after  the  dew  began  to  fall,  so,  being  a  little  damp,  she 
put  on  another  one.  But  next  morning  she  looked  in, 
and  there  't  was,  over  him,  spread  on  all  skewy ! 

"  Sometimes  I  think,"  she  added,  "  that  boys  have 
more  feeling  than  we  think  for  !  " 

"  I  know  they  have !  "  I  answered. 

A  picture  of  William  Henry's  mother  hung  opposite 
the  bed.  It  was  not  a  very  handsome  face,  nor  a  pretty 
face.  But  it  had  such  an  earnest,  loving,  wistful  expres- 
sion, that  I  could  not  help  exclaiming,  "  Beautiful !  " 

"  Yes,  she  was  a  beautiful  woman.  We  all  loved  her. 
She  was  just  like  a  daughter  to  me.  Billy  does  n't  know 
what  he 's  lost,  and  't  is  well  he  don't.  I  try  to  be  a 
mother  to  him  ;  but  they  say,"  said  the  tender-hearted  old 
lady,  — "  they  say  a  grandmother  is  n't  fit  to  have  the 
bringing  up  of  a  child !  Billy  has  his  faults." 

"  Now  if  I  were  a  child,"  I  exclaimed,  "  I  should 
rather  you  would  have  the  bringing  up  of  me  than  any- 
body I  know  of!  And  'tis  my  opinion,  from  what  I 
hear,  that  you  've  done  well  by  Billy.  Of  course  boys 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  21 

are  boys,  and  don't  always  do  as  they  ought  to.  Now 
there  's  little  Silas.  He  's  been  a  world  of  trouble 
first  and  last.  But  then  boys  soon  get  big  enough 
to  be  ashamed  of  all  their  little  bad  ways.  The  big- 
gest part  of  'em  like  good  men  best,  and  mean  to  be 
good  men.  And  I  think  Billy  's  going  to  grow  up  a 
capital  fellow  !  A  capital  fellow  !  If  a  boy  's  true- 
bearted  he  '11  come  out  all  right.  And  your  boy  is, 
is  n'l  he  ? 

"  O  very  !  "  she  said.     "  Very  !  " 

I  was  so  glad  to  think,  after  the  old  lady  had  gone 
down,  that  I  'd  said  something  which,  if  she  kept  awake, 
thinking  about  the  boy,  would  be  a  comfort  to  her. 

Next  morning  grandmother  brought  out  quite  an  arm- 
ful of  old  clothes.  A  poor  old  couple,  living  near,  she 
said,  took  most  of  hers  and  Mr.  Carver's ;  but  what  few 
there  were  of  Billy's  that  were  decent  to  send  I  might 
have.  A  couple  of  linen  jackets,  a  Scotch  cap,  two  pairs 
of  thin  trousers,  not  much  worn,  but  outgrown,  a  small 
overcoat,  several  pairs  of  stockings,  and  some  shoes. 
And  the  boots  also,  and  some  underclothing,  that  Wil- 
liam Henry  might  have  worn  longer,  she  said,  if  he  were 
only  living  at  home,  where  she  could  put  a  stitch  in  'em 
now  and  then. 

Grandmother  sighed  as  she  emptied  the  pockets  of 
crumbles,  green  apples,  reins,  bullets,  and  knotted,  gray, 
balled-up  pocket-handkerchiefs.  Among  the  clothes  she 
brought  out  a  funny  little  uniform,  which  I  had  seen 
hanging  up  in  his  room,  —  one  that  he  had  when  a  soldier, 
or  trainer,  as  she  called  it,  in  a  military  company,  formed 


2-2  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

near  the  beginning  of  the  war.  It  consisted  of  a  blue 
flannel  sack,  edged  with  red  braid,  red  flannel  Zouave 
trousers,  and  a  blue  flannel  cap,  bound  with  red,  and  hav- 
ing a  square  visor.  That  uniform  would  fit  some  little 
contraband,  she  said. 

"  Had  n't  you  better  keep  those  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Won't 
he  want  them  ?  " 

"  O  no,"  she  said.  "  He 's  outgrown  them.  And  't  is 
no  use  keeping  them  for  moths  to  get  into." 

She  gave  me  some  picture-books,  and  two  primers,  a 
roll  of  linen,  and  quite  a  good  blanket,  all  of  which  I 
received  thankfully. 

In  rolling  up  the  different  articles,  I  saw  her  eye  rest- 
ing so  lovingly  on  the  little  uniform,  that  I  said,  "  Here, 
grandmother,  had  n't  you  better  take  back  these  ?  " 

"  O,  I  guess  not,"  she  answered.  "  I  guess  you  better 
send  them.  But,"  she  added  a  moment  after,  "  perhaps 
they  might  as  well  stay  till  you  send  another  barrel." 

''  Just  exactly  as  well,"  I  said.  And  the  old  lady 
seemed  as  if  she  had  recovered  a  lost  treasure. 

Aunt  Phebe  added  a  good  many  valuable  article?,  so 
that  by  the  time  Uncle  Jacob  was  ready  to  start  I  had 
collected  two  immense  bundles,  and  felt  almost  brave 
enough  to  face  another  barrel.  For  they  all  said  they 
would  beg  from  their  friends,  and  save  things,  and  that  I 
must  certainly  come  again. 

"  For  you  know,"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  "  't  is  a  great  deal 
better  to  hear  you  tell  things  than  to  read  about  them  in 
the  newspapers." 

They  stood  about  the  door  to  see  us  off",  and  Matilda 
stroked  the  old  horse,  and  talked  to  him  as  if  he  under- 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION.  23 

stood.  She  broke  off  two  heads  of  phlox,  red  and 
white,  and  fastened  them  in  behind  his  ear.  Uncle 
Jacob  told  me,  as  we  rode  along,  that  the  old  horse  really 
expected  to  be  patted  and  talked  to  before  starting.  And 
indeed  I  noticed  myself  that  after  being  dressed  up  he 
stepped  off  with  an  exceedingly  satisfied  air,  just  as  I 
have  seen  some  little  girls,  —  and  boys  too,  for  that  mat- 
ter, and  occasionally  grown  people. 

But  it  is  quite  time  to  give  you  the  Letters.  There 
should  be  more  of  them,  for  the  correspondence  covers  a 
period  of  about  two  years.  'T  is  true  that,  after  the  first, 
William  Henry  did  not  write  nearly  as  often.  But  still 
there  are  many  missing.  Little  Tommy  cut  up  some 
into  strings  of  boys  and  girls,  and  at  one  time  when 
grandmother  was  n't  very  well,  and  had  to  hire  help,  the 
girl  took  some  to  kindle  fire  with.  The  old  lady  said 
she  was  sitting  up  in  her  arm-chair,  by  the  fireplace  one 
day,  when  she  saw,  in  the  corner,  a  piece  of  paper  with 
writing  on  it,  half  burnt  up.  She  poked  it  out  with  a 
yardstick,  and  't  was  one  of  Billy's  letters  !  Quite  a 
number  which  were  perfect  have  been  omitted.  This  is 
because  that  some  coming  between  were  missing;  and 
so,  as  the  children  say,  there  would  n't  be  any  sense  to 
them.  Others  contained  mostly  private  matters.  Very 
few  were  dated.  This  is,  however,  of  small  importance, 
as  the  Letters  probably  will  never  be  brought  forward 
to  decide  a  law  case. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


THE  first  letter  from  William  Henry  which  has  been  pre- 
served seems  to  have  been  written  a  few  weeks  after  entering 
his  school,  and  when  he  had  begun  to  get  acquainted  with 
the  boys.  Could  the  letter  itself  be  made  to  appear  here, 
with  its  very  peculiar  handwriting,  and  with  all  the  other 
distinctive  marks  of  a  boy's  first  exploit  on  paper,  it  would 
be  found  even  more  entertaining  than  when  given  in  the 
printed  form. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  think  the  school  that  I  have  come  to  is  a  very  good 
school.  We  have  dumplings.  I  've  tied  up  the  pills  that 
you  gave  me  in  case  of  feeling  bad,  in  the  toe  of  my  cot- 
ton stocking  that 's  lost  the  mate  of  it.  The  mince  pies 
they  have  here  are  baked  without  any  plums  being  put 
into  them.  So,  please,  need  I  say,  No,  I  thank  you, 
ma'am,  to  'em  when  they  come  round  ?  If  they  don't 
agree,  shall  I  take  the  pills  or  the  drops  ?  Or  was  it  the 
hot  flannels,  —  and  how  many  ? 

I  've  forgot  about  being  shivery.  Was  it  to  eat  roast 
onions  ?  No,  I  guess  not.  I  guess  it  was  a  wet  band 
tied  round  my  head.  Please  write  it  down,  because  you 

2 


26  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

told  me  so  many  things  I  can't  remember.  How  can 
anybody  tell  when  anybody  is  sick  enough  to  take  things  ? 
You  can't  think  what  a  great,  tall  man  the  schoolmaster 
is.  He  has  got  something  very  long  to  flog  us  with,  that 
bends  easy,  and  hurts,  —  Q.  S.  So  Dorry  says.  Q.  S. 
is  in  the  abbreviations,  and  stands  for  a  sufficient  quan- 
tity. Dorry  says  the  master  keeps  a  paint-pot  in  his 
room,  and  has  his  whiskers  painted  black  every  morning, 
and  his  hair  too,  to  make  himself  look  scareful.  Dorry 
is  one  of  the  great  boys.  But  Tom  Gush  is  bigger.  I 
don't  like  Tom  Cush. 

I  have  a  good  many  to  play  with ;  but  I  miss  you  and 
Towser  and  all  of  them  very  much.  How  does  my  sister 
do  ?  Don't  let  the  cow  eat  my  peach-tree.  Dorry  Baker 
he  says  that  peaches  don't  grow  here ;  but  he  says  the 
cherries  have  peach-stones  in  them.  In  a  month  my 
birthday  will  be  here.  Ho\v  funny  't  will  seem  to  be 
eleven,  when  I  've  been  ten  so  long !  I  don't  skip  over 
any  button-holes  in  the  morning  now  ;  so  my  jacket  comes 
out  even. 

Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  I  had  a  rjed  head  ?  But  I  can 
run  faster  than  any  of  them  that  are  no  bigger  than  I  am, 
and  some  that  are.  One  of  the  spokes  of  my  umbrella 
broke  itself  in  two  yesterday,  because  the  wind  blew  so 
when  it  rained. 

We  learn  to  sing.  He  says  I  've  a  good  deal  of  voice  ; 
but  I  've  forgot  what  the  matter  is  with  it.  We  go  up 
and  down  the  scale,  and  beat  time.  The  last  is  the  best 
fun.  The  other  is  hard  to  do.  But  if  I  could  only  get 
up,  I  guess  't  would  be  easy  to  come  down.  He  thinks 
something  ails  my  ear.  I  thought  he  said  I  had  n't  got 


THE   WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  '    27 

any  at  all.     What  have  a  feller's  ears  to  do  with  singing, 
or  with  scaling  up  and  down  ? 

Your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  Here  's  a  conundrum  Dorry  Baker  made :  In 
a  race,  why  would  the  singing-master  win  ?  Because 
"  Time  flies,"  and  he  beats  time. 

I  want  to  see  Aunt  Phebe,  and  Aunt  Phebe's  little 
Tommy,  dreadfully. 

W.  H. 

This  second  letter  must  have  been  pleasing  to  Aunt  Phebe, 
as  it  shows  that  William  Henry  was  beginning  to  have  some 
faint  regard  for  his  personal  appearance. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  've  got  thirty-two  cents  left  of  my  spending-money. 
When  shall  I  begin  to  wear  my  new  shoes  every  day  ? 
The  soap  they  have  here  is  pink.  Has  father  sold  the 
bossy  calf  yet?  There  's  a  boy  here  they  call  Bossy 
Calf,  because  he  cried  for  his  mother.  He  has  been  here 
three  days.  He  sleeps  with  me.  And  every  night,  after 
he  has  laid  his  head  down  on  the  pillow,  and  the  lights 
are  blown  out,  I  begin  to  sing,  and  to  scale  up  and  down, 
so  the  boys  can't  hear  him  cry.  Dorry  Baker  and  three 
more  boys  sleep  in  the  same  room  that  we  two  sleep  in. 
When  they  begin  to  throw  bootjacks  at  me,  to  make  me 
stop  my  noise,  it  scares  him,  and  he  leaves  off  crying.  I 
want  a  pair  of  new  boots  dreadfully,  with  red  on  the  tops 
of  them,  that  I  can  tuck  my  trousers  into  and  keep  the 
mud  off. 

One  thing  more  the  boys  plague  me  for  besides  my 


28 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


head.     Freckles.     Dorry  held  up  an  orange  yesterday. 
"  Can  you  see  it  ? "  says  he.     "  To  be  sure,"  says  I. 


"  Did  n't  know  as  you  could  see  through  'em,"  says  he, 
meaning  freckles.  Dear  grand  mot  her,  I  have  cried  once, 
but  not  in  bed.  For  fear  of  their  laughing,  and  of  the 
bootjacks.  But  away  in  a  good  place  under  the  trees. 
A  shaggy  dog  came  along  and  licked  my  face.  But  oh  ! 
he  did  make  me  remember  Towser,  and  cry  all  over 
again.  But  don't  tell,  for  I  should  be  ashamed.  I  wish 
the  boys  would  like  me.  Freckles  come  thicker  in  sum- 
mer than  they  do  in  winter. 

Your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

If  William  Henry's  recipe  for  the  prevention  of  spunki- 
ness  were  generally  adopted,  I  fancy  that  many  a  boy  would 
be  seen  practising  the  circus  performance  here  mentioned. 
It  must  have  been  "  sure  cure ! "  I  well  remember  the 
"plaguing"  of  my  schooldays,  and  know  from  experience 
how  hard  it  is  for  a  boy  (or  a  man)  always  to  keep  his  tem- 
per. The  fellows  used  to  make  fun  of  my  name.  In  our 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 


29 


quarrels,  when  there  was  nothing  else  left  to  say,  they  would 
call  out,  —  leaving  off  the  Silas,  —  '•  Y  Fry  ?  why  not  bake  V  " 
or  "  boil,"  or  "stew."  Of  course  to  such  remarks  there  was 
no  answer. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  so  few  of  Grandmother's  letters 
were  preserved.  As  Billy  here  makes  known  the  state  of  his 
pocket-book,  we  may  infer  that  she  had  been  inquiring  into 
his  accounts,  and  perhaps  cautioning  him  against  epending 
too  freely. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  do  what  you  told  me.  You  told  me  to  bite  my  lips 
and  count  ten,  before  I  spoke,  when  the  boys  plague  me, 
because  I  'm  a  spunky  boy.  But  doing  it  so  much  makes 
my  lips  sore.  So  now  I  go  head  over  heels  sometimes, 
till  I  'm  out  of  breath.  Then  I  can't  say  anything. 

This  is  the  account  you  asked  me  for,  of  all  I've 
bought  this  week  :  — 

Slippery  elm  ....  1  cent. 
Corn-ball  ....  1  cent. 
Gum  .  .  .  .  .1  cent. 

And  I  swapped  a  whip-lash  that  J  found  for  an  orange 
that  only  had  one  suck  sucked  out  of  it.  Thu  u  Two 


30 


THE   WILLIAM    HKNIiY   LETTERS. 


Betseys,"  they  keep  very  good  things  to  sell.     Thoy  are 
two  old  women  that  live  in  a  little  hut  with  two  rooms  to 


it,  and  a  ladder  to  go  up  stairs  by,  through  a  hole  in  the 
wall.  One  Betsey,  she  is  lame  and  keeps  still,  and  sells 
the  things  to  us  sitting  down.  The  other  Betsey,  she 
can  run,  and  keeps  a  yard-stick  to  drive  away  boys 
with.  For  they  have  apple-trees  in  their  garden.  But 
she  never  touches  a  boy,  if  she  does  catch  him.  They 
have  hens  and  sell  eggs. 

The  boys  that  sleep  in  the  same  room  that  we  do 
wanted  Benjie  and  me  to  join  together  with  them  to  buy 
a  great  confectioner's  frosted  cake,  and  other  things. 
And  when  the  lamps  had  been  blown  out,  to  keep  awake 
and  light  them  up  again,  and  so  have  a  supper  late  at 
night,  with  the  curtains  all  down  and  the  blinds  shut  up, 
when  people  were  in  bed,  and  not  let  anybody  know. 

But  Benjie  had  n't  any  money.  Because  his  father 
works  hard  for  his  living,  —  but  his  uncle  pays  for  his 
schooling,  —  and  he  would  n't  if  he  had.  And  I  said  I 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  31 

would  n't  do  anything  so  deceitful.  And  the  more  they 
said  you  must  and  you  shall,  the  more  I  said  I  would  n't 
and  I  should  n't,  and  the  money  should  blow  up  first. 

So  they  called  me  "  Old  Stingy  "  and  "  Pepper-corn  " 
and  "  Speckled  Potatoes."  Said  they  'd  pull  my  hair  if 't 
were  n't  for  burning  their  fingers.  Dorry  was  the  mad- 
dest one.  Said  he  guessed  my  hair  was  tired  of  standing 
up,  and  wanted  to  lie  down  to  rest. 

I  wish  you  would  please  send  me  a  new  comb,  for  the 
large  end  of  mine  has  got  all  but  five  of  the  teeth  broken 
out,  and  the  small  end  can't  get  through.  I  can't  get  it 
cut  because  the  barber  has  raised  his  price.  Send  quite 
a  stout  one. 

I  have  lost  two  of  my  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  an- 
other one  went  up  on  Dorry's  kite,  and  blew  away, 
your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

&!Y  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  did  what  you  told  me,  when  I  got  wet.  I  hung  my 
clothes  round  the  kitchen  stove  on  three  chairs,  but  the 
cooking  girl  she  flung  them  under  the  table.  So  now  I 
go  wrinkled,  and  the  boys  chase  me  to  smooth  out  the 
wrinkles.  I  've  got  a  good  many  hard  rubs.  But  I 
laugh  too.  That  's  the  best  way.  Some  of  the  boys 
play  with  me  now,  and  ask  me  to  go  round  with  them. 
Dorry  has  n't  yet.  Tom  Gush  plagues  the  most. 

Sometimes  the  schoolmaster  comes  out  to  see  us  when 
we  are  playing  ball,  or  jumping.  To-day,  when  we  all 
clapped  Dorry,  the  schoolmaster  clapped  too.  Somebody 
told  me  that  he  likes  boys.  Do  you  believe  it  ? 


32  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

A  cat  ran  up  the  spout  this  morning,  and  jumped  in 
the  window.  Dorry  was  going  to  choke  her,  or  drown 
her,  for  the  working-girl  said  she  licked  out  the  inside  of 
a  custard-pie.  I  asked  Dorry  what  he  would  take  to  i<-t 
her  go,  and  he  said  five  cents.  So  I  paid.  For  she  was 
just  like  my  sister's  cat.  And  just  as  likely  as  not  some- 


body's little  sister  would  have  cried  about  it.  For  she 
had  a  ribbon  tied  round  her  neck. 

The  woman  that  I  go  to  have  my  buttons  sewed  on 
to,  is  a  very  good  woman.  She  gave  me  a  cookie  with  a 
hole  in  the  middle,  and  told  me  to  mind  and  not  eat  the 
hole. 

Coming  back,  I  met  Benjie,  and  he  looked  so  sober,  I 
offered  it  to  him  as  quick  as  I  could.  But  it  almost 
made  him  cry ;  because,  he  said,  his  mother  made  her 
cookies  with  a  hole  in  the  middle.  But  when  he  gets 
acquainted,  he  won't  be  so  bashful,  and  he  '11  feel  better 
then. 

We  walked  away  to  a  good  place  under  the  trees,  and 
he  talked  about  his  folks,  and  his  grandmother,  and  his 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  33 

Aunt  Polly,  and  the  two  little  twins.  They  've  got  two 
cradles  just  like  each  other,  and  they  are  just  as  big  as 
each  other,  and  just  as  old.  They  creep  round  on  the 
floor,  and  when  one  picks  up  anything,  the  other  pulls  it 
away.  I  wish  we  had  some  twins.  I  told  him  things 
too. 

Kiss  yourself  for  me. 

Your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  If  you  send  a  cake,  send  quite  a  large  one.  I 
like  the  kind  that  Uncle  Jacob  does.  Aunt  Phebe  knows. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER,  — 

I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  "  Gapper  Skyblue." 
"  Gapper  "  means  grandpa.  He  wears  all  the  time  blue 
overalls,  faded  out,  and  a  jacket  like  them.  That 's  why 
they  call  him  "  Gapper  Skyblue."  He 's  a  very  poor  old 
man.  He  saws  wood.  We  found  him  leaning  up  against 
a  tree.  Benjie  and  I  were  together.  His  hair  is  all 
turned  white,  and  his  back  is  bent.  He  had  great  patches 
on  his  knees.  His  hat  was  an  old  hat  that  he  had  given 
him,  and  his  shoes  let  in  the  mud.  I  wish  you  would 
please  to  be  so  good  as  to  send  me  both  your  old-fash- 
ioned india-rubbers,  to  make  balls  of,  as  quick  as  holes 
come.  Most  all  the  boys  have  lost  their  balls.  And 
please  to  send  some  shoe-strings  next  time,  for  I  have  to 
tie  mine  up  all  the  time  now  with  some  white  cord  that 
I  found,  and  it  gets  into  hard  knots,  and  I  have  to  stoop 
my  head  way  down  and  untie  'em  with  my  teeth,  be- 
cause I  cut  my  thumb  whittling,  and  jammed  my  fingers 
in  the  gate. 

2*  o 


34 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 


Old  Gapper  Skyblue's  no.se  is  pretty  long,  and  he 
looked  so  funny  leaning  up  against  a  tree,  that  I  was 
just  going  to  laugh.  But  then  I  remembered  what  you 
said  a  real  gentleman  would  do.  That  he  would  be  po- 
lite to  all  people,  no  matter  what  clothes  they  had  on,  or 
whether  they  were  rich  people  or  poor  people.  He  had 
a  big  basket  with  two  covers  to  it,  and  we  offered  to 
carry  it  for  him. 

He  said,  "  Yes,  little  boys,  if  you  won't  lift  up  the 
covers." 

We  found  't  was  pretty  heavy.  And  I  wondered  what 
was  in  it,  and  so  did  Benjie.  The  basket  was  going  to 
"The  Two  Betseys." 

When  we  had  got  half-way  there,  Dorry  and  Tom 
Gush  came  along,  and  called  out :  "  Hallo !  there,  you 
two.  What  are  you  lugging  off  so  fast  ?  " 

We  said  we  did  n't  know.  They  said,  "  Let  's  see." 
We  said,  "  No,  you  can't  see."  Then  they  pushed  as. 


Gapper  was  «,  good  way   behind.     I  sat  down  on  one 
cover,  and    Benjie  on  the  other,  to  keep  them  shut  up. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  35 

Then  they  pulled  us.  I  swung  my  arms  round,  and 
made  the  sand  fly  with  my  feet,  for  I  was  just  as  mad  as 
anything.  Then  Tom  Gush  hit  me.  So  I  ran  to  tell 
Gapper  to  make  haste.  But  first  picked  up  a  stone  to 
send  at  Tom  Gush.  But  remembered  about  the  boy  that 
threw  a  stone  and  hit  a  boy,  and  he  died.  I  mean  the 
boy  that  was  hit.  And  so  dropped  the  stone  down  again 
and  ran  like  lightning. 

"  Go  it,  you  pesky  little  red-headed  firebug !  "  cried 
Tom  Gush. 

"  G&  it,  Spunkum  !  I  '11  hold  your  breath,"  Dorry 
hollered  out. 

The  dog,  the  shaggy  dog  that  licked  my  face  when  I 
was  lying  under  the  trees,  he  came  along  and  growled 
and  snapped  at  them,  because  they  were  hurting  Benjie. 
You  see  Benjie  treats  him  well,  and  gives  him  bones. 
And  the  master  came  in  sight  too.  So  they  were  glad 
to  let  us  alone. 

The  basket  had  rabbits  in  it.  Gapper  Skyblue  wanted 
to  pay  us  two  cents  apiece.  But  we  would  n't  take  pay. 
We  would  n't  be  so  mean. 

When  we  were  going  along  to  school,  Bubby  Short 
came  and  whispered  to  me  that  Tom  and  Dorry  were 
hiding  my  bird's  eggs  in  a  post-hole.  But  I  got  them 
again.  Two  broke. 

Bubby  Short  is  a  nice  little  fellow.  He  's  about  as  old 
as  I  am,  but  over  a  head  shorter  and  quite  fat.  His 
cheeks  reach  way  up  into  his  eyes.  He  's  got  little  black 
eyes,  and  little  cunning  teeth,  just  as  white  as  the  meat 
of  a  punkin-seed. 

I  had  to  pay  twenty  cents  of  that  quarter  you  sent,  for 


36  THE   WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

breaking  a   square   of   glass.     But  didn't  mean  to,  so 
please  excuse.     I  have  n't  much  left. 

Your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  When  punkins  come,  save  the  seeds  —  tc  roast. 
If  you  please. 

Mr  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

One  of  my  elbows  came  through,  but  the  woman 
sewed  it  up  again.  I  've  used  up  both  balls  of  my  twine. 
And  my  white-handled  knife,  —  I  guess  it  went  through 
a  hole  in  my  pocket,  that  I  did  n't  know  of  till  after  the 
knife  was  lost.  My  trousers  grow  pretty  short.  But 
she  says  't  is  partly  my  legs  getting  long.  I  'm  glad  of 
that.  And  partly  getting  'em  wet. 

I  stubbed  my  toe  against  a  stump,  and  tumbled  down 
and  scraped  a  hole  through  the  knee  of  my  oldest  pair. 
For  it  was  very  rotten  cloth.  I  guess  the  hole  is  too 
crooked  to  have  her  sew  it  up  again.  She  thinks  a 
mouse  ran  up  the  leg,  and  gnawed  that  hole  my  knife 
went  through,  to  get  the  crumbles  in  the  pocket.  I  don't 
mean  when  they  were  on  me,  but  hanging  up. 

My  boat  is  almost  rigged.  She  says  she  will  hem  the 
sails  if  I  won't  leave  any  more  caterpillars  in  my  pockets. 
I'm  getting  all  kinds  of  caterpillars  to  see  what  kind  of 
butterflies  they  make. 

Yesterday,  Dorry  and  I  started  from  the  pond  to  run 
and  see  who  would  get  home  first.  He  went  one  way, 
and  I  went  another. 

I  cut  across  the  Two  Betseys'  garden.  But  I  don't 
see  how  I  did  so  much  hurt  in  just  once  cutting  across. 


THE   WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  37 

I  knew  something  cracked,  —  that  was  the  sink-spout  I 
jumped  down  on,  off  the  fence.  There  was  a  board  I 
hit,  that  had  huckleberries  spread  out  on  it  to  dry.  They 
went  into  the  rain-water  hogshead.  \  did  n't  know  any 
huckleberries  were  spread  out  on  that  -board. 

I  meant  to  go  between  the  rows,  but  guess  I  stepped 
on  a  few  beans.  My  wrist  got  hurt  dreadfully  by  my 
getting  myself  tripped  up  in  a  squash-vine.  And  while 
I  was  down  there,  a  bumble-bee  stung  me  on  my  chin. 
I  stepped  on  a  little  chicken,  for  she  ran  the  way  I 
thought  she  was  n't  going  to.  I  don't  remember  whether 
I  shut  the  gate  or  not.  But  guess  not,  for  the  pig  got 
in,  and  went  to  rooting  before  Lame  Betsey  saw  him,  and 
the  other  Betsey  had  gone  somewhere. 

I  got  home  first,  but  my  wrist  ached,  and  my  sting 
smarted.  You  forgot  to  write  down  what  was  good  for 
bumble-bee  stings.  Benjie  said  his  Aunt  Polly  put 
damp  sand  on  to  stings.  So  he  put  a  good  deal  of  it  on 
my  chin,  and  it  got  better,  though  my  wrist  kept  aching 
in  the  night.  And  I  went  to  school  with  it  aching.  But 
did  n't  tell  anybody  but  Benjie.  Just  before  school  was 
done,  the  master  said  we  might  put  away  our  books. 
Then  he  talked  about  the  Two  Betseys,  and  told  how 
Lame  Betsey  got  lame  by  saving  a  little  boy's  life  when 
the  house  was  on  fire.  She  jumped  out  of  the  window 
with  him.  And  he  made  us  all  feel  ashamed  that  we 
great  strong  boys  should  torment  two  poor  women. 

Then  he  told  about  the  damage  done  the  day  before  by 
some  boy  running  through  their  garden,  and  said  five 
dollars  would  hardly  be  enough  to  pay  it.  "  I  don't 
know  what  boy  it  was,  but  if  he  is  present,"  says  he,  "  I 
call  upon  him  to  rise." 


38  THE   WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

1 

Then  I  stood  up.  I  was  ashamed,  but  I  stood  up. 
For  you  told  me  once  this  saying :  "  Even  if  truth  be  a 
loaded  cannon  walk  straight  up  to  it." 

The  master  ordered  me  not  to  go  on  to  the  play-ground 
for  a  week,  nor  be  out  of  the  house  in  play-hours. 
From  your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

I  was  very  sorry  that  while  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Crooked  Pond  school,  a  short  time  since,  lack  of  time  pre- 
vented my  finding  out  the  Two  Betseys'  shop.  These  worthy 
women,  as  will  be  seen  further  on,  became  William  Henry's 
firm  friends. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

Lame  Betsey  gave  me  something  to  put  on  my  wrist 
that  cured  it.  I  went  there  to  ask  how  much  money 
must  be  paid.  I  had  sold  my  football,  and  my  brass 
sword,  and  my  pocket-book.  They  told  me  they  should 
not  take*  any  money,  but  if  I  would  saw  some  wood  for 
them,  and  do  an  errand  now  and  then,  they  should  be 
very  glad.  When  I  told  Dorry,  he  threw  up  his  hat,  and 
called  out,  "  Three  cheers  for  the  '  Two  Betseys.' "  And 
when  his  hat  came  down,  he  picked  it  up  and  passed  it 
round ;  "  for,"  says  he,  "  we  all  owe  them  something." 
One  great  boy  dropped  fifty  cents  in.  And  it  all  came 
to  about  four  dollars.  And  Bubby  Short  carried  it  to 
them.  But  I  shall  saw  some  wood  for  them  all  the  same. 

Last  evening  it  was  rainy.  A  good  many  boys  came 
into  our  room,  and  we  sat  in  a  row,  and  every  one  said 
some  verses,  or  told  a  riddle.  These  two  verses  I  send 
for  Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy  to  learn.  I  guess  he 's 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  39 

done  saying  "  Fishy,  fishy  in  the  brook "  by  this  time. 
Dorry  said  he  got  them  out  of  the  German. 

"  When  you  are  rich,  "  Better  honest  and  poor, 

You  can  ride  with  a  span ;  And  go  as  you  can, 

But  when  you  are  poor,  Than  rich  and  a  rogue, 

You  must  go  as  you  can.  And  ride  with  a  span." 

This  riddle  was  too  hard  for  me  to  guess.  But  Aunt 
Phebe's  girls  like  to  guess  riddles,  and  I  will  send  it  to 
them.  Mr.  Augustus  says  that  a  soldier  made  it  in  a 
Rebel  prison.  Mr.  Augustus  is  a  tall  boy,  that  knows  a 
good  deal,  and  wears  spectacles,  and  that 's  why  we  call 
him  Mr.  Augustus. 

RIDDLE. 

I  'm  one  half  a  Bible  command, 

That  aye  and  forever  shall  stand ; 

And,  throughout  our  beautiful  land, 

'T  is  needed  now  to  foil  the  traitorous  band. 

I  'm  always  around,  —  yet  they  say 

Too  often  I  'm  out  of  the  war,  • 

Thereby  leading  astray ; 

I  'm  decked  in  jewels  fine  and  rich  array. 

Although  from  my  heart  I  am  stirred, 
I  can  utter  but  one  little  word, 
And  that  very  seldom  is  heard ; 
My  elder  sister  sometimes  kept  a  bird. 

Reads  the  riddle  clear  to  you? 

I  am  very  near  to  you : 

Both  very  near  and  dear  —  to  you, 

Yet  kept  in  chains.    Does  that  seem  queer  to  you  ? 

That  about  being  "  stirred  from  the  heart "  is  all  true. 
So  is  that  about  being  "  around"  The  "  Bible  com- 
mand/' spoken  of  at  the  beginning,  is  only  in  three 


40  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

words,  or  two  words  joined  by  "  and."     This  word  is  the 
first  half.     But  I  must  n't  tell  you  too  much. 

They  are  all  dear.  But  some  kiuds  are  dearer  than 
others. 

I  wish  my  father  would  send  me  one. 

That  about  the  bird  is  first-rate,  though  I  never  saw 
one  of  that  kind  of  —  I  won't  say  what  I  mean  (Dorry 
says  you  must  n't  say  what  you  mean  when  you  tell  rid- 
dles). But  maybe  you  've  seen  one.  They  used  to  have 
them  in  old  times. 

I  've  launched  my  boat.  She  's  the  biggest  one  in 
school.  Dorry  broke  a  bottle  upon  her,  and  christened 
her  the  "  General  Grant."  The  boys  gave  three  cheers 
when  she  touched  water,  and  Benjie  sent  up  his  new 
kite.  It 's  a  ripper  of  a  kite  with  a  great  gilt  star  on  it 
that 's  got  eight  prongs. 

My  hat  blew  off,  and  I  had  to  go  in  swimming  after  it. 
It  is  quite  stiff.  The  master  was  walking  by,  and  stopped 
to  see  thl  launching.  When  he  smiles,  he  looks  just  as 
pleasant  as  anything. 

He  patted  me  on  my  cheek,  and  says  he,  "  You  ought 
to  have  called  her  the  '  Flying  Billy.' "  And  then  he 
walked  on. 

"  What  does  '  Flying  Billy '  mean  ?  "  says  I. 

"  It  means  you,"  said  Dorry.  "  And  it  means  that  you 
run  fast,  and  that  he  likes  you.  If  a  boy  can  run  fast, 
and  knows  his  multiplication-table,  and  won't  lie,  he  likes 
him." 

But  how  can  such  a  great  man  like  a  small  boy  ? 
From  your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  41 

P.  S.  When  the  boys  laugh  at  me,  I  laugh  too.  That 's 
a  good  way. 

P.  S.  There  's  a  man  here  that 's  got  nine  puppies. 
If  I  had  some  money  I  could  buy  one.  The  boys  don't 
plague  me  quite  so  much.  I  'm  sorry  you  dropped  off 
your  spectacles  down  the  well.  I  suppose  they  sunk. 
I  've  got  a  sneezing  cold. 

W.  H. 

About  the  spectacles,  I  may  as  well  confess  that  I  was  the 
means  of  their  being  lost. 

One  day  Uncle  Jacob  came  into  the  office  hastily,  and,  with 
a  look  of  distress,  said  to  me  very  solemnly,  — 

"  Mr.  Fry,  if  you  can,  I  want  you  to  leave  everything,  and 
ride  out  with  me  ! " 

'•  Oh  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  ever  since  we  sent  out  word  about  old 
clothes,  they  've  been  coming  in  so  fast  the  rooms  are  all 
filled  up,  and  we  don't  know  where  to  go  !  " 

He  then  went  on  to  tell  that  the  notice  had  spread  into  all 
the  neighborhoods  round  about,  and  that  bundles  of  every 
description  were  constantly  pouring  in.  They  were  left  at 
the  back  door,  front  door,  side  door,  dropped  on  the  piazza, 
and  in  at  the  windows.  Men  riding  by  tossed  them  into  the 
yard,  and  little  boys  came- tugging  bundles,  bigger  than  they 
could  lift,  or  dragged  them  in  roller-carts,  or  wheeled  them 
in  wheelbarrows.  He  said  he  found  bundles  waiting  for  him 
at  the  store,  at  the  post-office,  and  he  could  hardly  ride 
along  the  street  without  some  woman  knocking  at  the  win- 
dow, and  holding  up  one,  and  beckoning  with  her  forefinger 
for  him  to  come  in  after  it !  Even  in  the  meeting-house 
somebody  took  a  roll  of  something  from  under  a  shawl  and 
handed  him  !  He  would  have  brought  the  parcels,  or  a  part 


42  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

of  them,  but  there  was  every  kind  of  a  thing  sent  in,  —  white 
vests  and  flounced  lace  or  muslin  gowns,  and  open-work 
stockings ;  and  some  things  were  too  poor,  and  some  were 
too  nice,  and  his  folks  thought  Mr.  Fry  should  come  out. 

So  what  could  I  do  but  go  ?  And,  as  it  happened,  I  could 
"leave  everything  "  just  as  well  as  not,  and  was  glad  to. 

Grandmother  received  me  in  the  kindest  manner,  gave  me 
a  pair  of  black  yarn  stockings,  asked  about  the  contrabands, 
talked  about  Billy,  read  me  his  letters,  and,  on  the  whole, 
seemed  much  easier  in  her  mind  concerning  him  than  when 
I  saw  her  before. 

She  was  skimming  pans  of  milk.  With  her  permission  I 
watched  the  skimming,  for  pans  of  milk  to  a  city  man  were 
a  rare  sight  to  see !  I  was  also  given  some  of  the  cream, 
and  a  baked  Summer  Sweeting  to  eat  with  it. 

The  cream  was  put  into  a  large  yellow  bowl,  and  the  bowl 
set  in  a  six-quart  tin  pail.  It  was  then  ready  to  be  lowered 
into  the  well ;  for,  as  country  people  seldom  have  ice,  they 
use  the  well  as  a  refrigerator,  and  it  is  there  they  keep  their 
butter,  cream,  fresh  meat,  or  anything  that  is  likely  to  spoil. 

"  Do  let  me  lower  it  down  the  well  for  you,"  1  said ;  see- 
ing that  her  hand  trembled  a  little ;  and  besides,  I  hardly 
thought  it  prudent  for  her  to  go  out,  as  the  grass  was  damp, 
there  having  been  quite  a  sprinkle  of  rain. 

"  Well,  if  you  've  a  mind  to  take  the  trouble,"  she  said, 
as  she  handed  me  the  pail,  at  the  same  time  telling  me  to  be 
particular  about  putting  stones  around  the  bowl,  in  the  bot- 
tom, to  steady  it.  She  then  handed  me  the  line,  and  cautioned 
me  about  hitting  another  pail,  which  was  already  down  the 
well. 

Just  as  I  went  out  Uncle  Jacob  passed  through  the  gate 
into  the  garden,  to  pick  his  mother  some  beans. 

"  Sha'  n't  I  do  that  ?  "  he  asked. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  43 

"  O  no,"  said  I ;  "  I  am  very  glad  to  make  myself  useful." 

Little  Tommy  stood  by  the  well  watching  me,  and  I  was 
talking  to  him  and  playing  with  Towser,  and  by  not  attending 
to  my  business,  I  must  have  tied  a  granny-knot,  though  I 
meant  to  tie  a  square  one  ;  and  about  half-way  down  the  pail 
slipped  off,  and  went  plump  to  the  bottom. 

Little  Tommy  ran  into  the  house  calling  out,  "  Grand- 
mother !  Grandmother !  that  man  lost  your  pail !  Mr.  Fwy 
let  go  of  your  pail !  " 

Grandmother  came  running  out  and  looked  down.  Her 
spectacles  were  tipped  up  on  top  of  her  head  ;  and  when  she7 
bent  over  the  well-curb  they  slipped  off',  just  touched  the  tip 
of  her  nose,  and  were  out  of  sight  in  a  moment. 

Uncle  Jacob  came  up  laughing  and  said,  "  Of  course  the 
specs  must  go  down  to  see  where  the  cream  went  to ! " 
But  Grandmother  thought  it  was  no  laughing  matter. 

Mr.  Carver  and  Uncle  Jacob  had  a  good  many  spells  of 
fishing  in  the  well.  At  last  Uncle  Jacob  was  lucky  enough 
to  catch  the  handle  of  the  pail  with  his  hook,  and  then  he 
drew  the  pail  up.  It  was  found  to  be  in  quite  a  damaged 
condition.  The  water  looked  creamy  for  some  time.  The 
glasses  never  came  to  light.  It  seemed,  therefore,  no  more 
than  my  duty  to  send  Grandmother  another  pair,  which  I  did 
soon  after  in  a  bright  new  six-quart  pail,  wishing  with  all  my 
heart  they  were  gold-bowed  ones.  But  I  could  not  afford  to 
do  more  than  replace  the  lost  ones. 

I  will  add  that  the  six-quart  pail  was  filled  with  the  best  of 
peaches. 

The  next  three  letters  seem  to  have  been  sent  at  one  time. 
Before  they  reached  Grandmother  she  had  worked  herself 
into  a  perfect  fever  of  anxiety. 

Owing  to  the  rabbit  affair,  of  which  they  contain  the  whole 
story,  William  Henry  had  not  felt  like  writing,  so  that,  even 


44  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

before  his  letter  was  begun,  they  at  the  farm  were  already 
looking  for  it  to  arrive.  Then  it  took  a  longer  time  than  he 
expected  to  finish  up  his  account  of  the  matter;  ami  when  at 
last  the  letter  was  sealed  and  directed,  the  boy  who  carried 
it  to  the  post-office  forgot  his  errand,  and  it  hung  in  an  over- 
coat pocket  several  days.  No  wonder,  then,  the  old  lady  grew 
anxious. 

I  was  at  the  farm  at  the  time  they  were  looking  for  the 
letters,  and  I  really  tried  very  hard  to  be  entertaining ;  but 
not  the  funniest  story  I  could  tell  about  the  funniest  little 
rollypoly  contraband  in  the  hospital  could  excite  more  than  a 
passing  smile. 

Aunt  Phebe  gave  me  my  charge  before  I  went  in. 

"  You  must  be  lively,"  said  she.  "  Be  lively  !  Turn  her 
thoughts  off  of  Billy !  That 's  the  way  !  Though  I  do  feel 
worried,"  she  added.  "  'T  is  a  puzzle  why  we  don't  have 
letters.  I  'm  afraid  something  is  the  matter,  or  else  it  seems 
to  me  we  should.  He  's  been  very  good  about  writing.  If 
anything  has  happened  to  Billy,  I  don't  know  what  we  should 
do.  'T  would  come  pretty  hard  to  Grandmother.  And  I  do 
have  my  fears !  But  't  won't  do  to  let  her  know  I  worry 
about  him.  And  you  better  be  very  lively  !  We  all  have 
to  be  !  "j 

I  observed  that  Mr.  Carver,  although  he  talked  very  calmly 
•with  his  mother,  and  urged  her  to  rest  easy,  was  after  all  not 
so  very  much  at  ease  himself.  He  sat  by  the  window  ap- 
parently reading  a  newspaper.  But  it  was  plain  that  he  only 
wished  Grandmother  to  think  he  was  reading  ;  for  he  paid 
but  little  attention  to  the  paper,  and  was  constantly  looking 
across  the  garden  to  see  when  Uncle  Jacob  should  get  back 
from  the  post-office  ;  and  the  moment  Towser  barked  he 
folded  his  paper  and  went  out.  Grandmother  put  on  her 
"  out-door  "  spectacles,  and  stood  at  the  window.  When  Mr. 
Carver  returned  she  glanced  rapidly  over  him  with  an  ear- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  45 

nest,  beseeching  look,  which  seemed  to  say  that  it  was  not 
possible  but  that  somewhere  about  him,  in  some  pocket,  or 
in  his  hat,  or  shut  up  in  his  hand,  there  must  be  a  letter. 

"  The  mail  was  late,"  Mr.  Carver  said ;  "  Uncle  Jacob 
could  n't  wait,  and  had  left  the  boy  to  fetch  it." 

Grandmother  was  setting  the  table.  In  her  travels  to  and 
from  the  buttery  she  stopped  often  to  glance  up  the  road,  and 
during  meal-time  her  eyes  were  constantly  turning  to  the 
windows. 

Presently  Aunt  Phebe  came  in. 

"  The  boy  did  n't  bring  any  letters,"  said  she ;  "  but  I  've 
been  thinking  it  over,  and  for  my  part  I  don't  think  't  is 
worth  while  to  worry.  No  news  is  good  news.  Bad  news 
travels  fast.  A  thousand  things  might  happen  to  keep  a  boy 
from  writing.  He  might  be  out  of  paper,  or  out  of  stamps, 
or  out  of  anything  to  write  about,  or  might  have  lessons  to 
learn,  or  be  too  full  of  play,  or  be  kept  after  school,  or  might 
a  good  many  things !  " 

"  You  don't  suppose,"  said  Grandmother,  "  that  —  you  don't 
think  —  it  could  n't  be  possible,  could  it,  that  Billy  's  been 
punished  and  feels  ashamed  to  tell  of  it  ?  " 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  Aunt  Phebe.  "Now  don't, Grandmother, 
I  beg  of  you  get  started  off  on  that  notion  !  Yesterday 't  was 
the  measles.  And  day  before  't  was  being  drowned,  and  now 
't  is  being  punished  ! " 

"  'T  would  n't  be  like  William  not  to  tell  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
Carver. 

"  Not  a  bit  like  him,"  said  Aunt  Phebe. 

"  No,"  said  Grandmother,  "  I  don't  think  it  would.  But 
you  know  when  anybody  gets  to  thinking,  they  are  apt  to 
think  of  everything." 

I  told  them  there  was  a  possibility  of  the  letter  being  mis- 
sent.  And  that  idea  reminded  me  of  just  such  an  anxious 
time  we  had  once  about  little  Silas.  His  letter  went  to 


46  THE   WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

a  town  of  the  same  name  in  Ohio,  and  was  a  long  time  reach- 
ing us.  I  made  haste  to  tell  this  to  Grandmother,  and  thought 
it  comforted  her  a  little. 

When  I  left  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Carver  followed  me  out 
and  asked  me  to  make  inquiries  in  regard  to  the  telegraphic 
communication  with  the  Crooked  Pond  School,  and  to  be  in 
readiness  to  telegraph  ;  for,  in  case  no  letter  came  that  day, 
he  should  send  me  word  to  do  so. 

But  no  word  arrived,  as  the  next  mail  brought  the  follow- 
ing letters,  with  their  amusing  illustrations. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  suppose  if  I  should  tell  you  I  had  had  a  whipping 
you  would  feel  sorry.  Well,  don't  feel  sorry.  I  will 
begin  at  the  beginning. 

We  can't  go  out  evenings.  But  last  Monday  evening 
one  of  the  teachers  said  I  might  go  after  my  overjacket 
that  I  took  off  to  play  ball,  and  left  hanging  over  a  fence. 
It  was  a  very  light  night.  I  had  to  go  down  a  long  lane 
to  get  where  it  was ;  and  when  I  got  there,  it  was  n't 
there.  The  moon  was  shining  bright  as  day.  Old  Gap- 
per  Skyblue  lives  down  that  lane.  He  raises  rabbits. 
He  keeps  them  in  a  hen-house. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  what  some  of  the  great  boys  do 
sometimes.  They  steal  eggs  and  roast  them.  There  is 
a  fireplace  in  Tom  Gush's  room.  Once  they  roasted  a 
pullet.  The  owners  have  complained  so  that  the  master 
said  he  would  flog,  the  next  boy  that  robbed  a  hen-house 
or  an  orchard,  before  the  whole  school. 

Now  I  will  go  on  about  my  overjacket.  While  I  was 
looking  for  it  I  heard  a  queer  noise  in  the  rabbit-house. 
So  I  jumped  over.  Then  a  boy  popped  out  of  the  rabbit- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


47 


house  and  ran.     I  knew  him  in  a  minute,  for  all  he  ran 
so  fast,  —  Tom  Gush. 

Now  when  he  started  to  run,  something  dropped  out 
of  his  hand.     I  went  up  to  it,  and  't  was  a  rabbit,  a  dead 


one,  just  killed ;  for  when  I  stooped  down  and  felt  of  it, 
it  was  warm.  And  while  I  was  stooping  down,  there 
came  a  great  heavy  hand  down  on  my  shoulder.  It  was 
a  man's  great  heavy  hand. 

Gapper  had  set  a  man  there  to  watch.  He  hollered 
into  my  ears,  "  Now  I  've  got  you  ! "  I  hollered,  too,  for 
he  came  sudden,  without  my  hearing. 

"You  little  thief!"  says  he. 

"  I  did  n't  kill  it,"  says  I. 

"  You  little  liar  !  "  says  he. 

"  I  'm  not  a  liar,"  says  I. 

"  1  '11  take  you  to  the  master,' '  says  he. 

"  Take  me  where  you  want  to,"  says  I. 

Then  he  pulled  me  along,  and  kept  saying,  "  Who  did, 
if  you  did  n't  ?  If  you  did  n't,  who  did  ?  " 


48  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

And  he  walked  me  straight  up  into  the  master's  room, 
without  so  much  as  giving  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  I  've  brought  you  a  thief  and  a  liar,"  says  he.  Then 
he  told  where  he  found  me,  and  what  a  bad  boy  I  wa>. 
Then  he  went  away,  because  the  master  wanted  to  talk 
with  me  all  by  myself. 

Now  I  did  n'vt  want  to  tell  tales  of  Tom,  for  it 's  mean 
to  tell  tales.  So  all  I  could  say  was  that  I  did  n't  do  it. 

The  master  looked  sorry.  Said  he  was  afraid  I  had 
begun  to  go  with  bad  boys.  "  Did  n't  I  see  you  walking 
in  the  lane  with  Tom  Gush  yesterday  ?  "  says  he.  I  said 
I  was  helping  him  find  his  ball.  And  so  I  was. 

"  If  you  were  with  the  boys  who  did  this,"  said  he, 
"or  helped  about  it  in  any  way,  that 's  just  as  bad." 

I  said  I  did  n't  help  them,  or  go  with  them. 

"  How  came  you  there  so  late  ?  "  says  he. 

"  I  went  after  my  overjacket,"  says  I. 

"  And  where  is  your  overjacket  ?  "  says  he. 

I  said  I  did  n't  know.     It  was  n't  there. 

Then  he  said  I  might  go  to  bed,  and  he  would  talk- 
with  me  again  in  the  morning. 

When  I  got  to  our  room,  the  boys  were  sound  asleep, 
I  crept  into  bed  as  still  as  a  mouse.  The  moon  shone  in 
on  me.  I  thought  my  eyes  would  never  go  to  sleep 
again.  I  tried  to  think  how  much  a  flogging  would  hurt. 
Course,  I  knew  't  would  n't  be  like  one  of  your  little 
whippings.  I  was  n't  so  very  much  afraid  of  the  hurt, 
though.  But  the  name  of  being  whipped,  I  was  afraid 
of  that,  and  the  shame  of  it.  Now  I  will  tell  you  about 
the  next  morning,  and  how  I  was  waked  up. 
Your  affectionate  grandchild, 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  49 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  had  to  leave  off  and  jump  up  and  run  to  school 
without  stopping  to  sign  my  name,  for  the  bell  rang. 
But,  now  school  is  done,  I  will  write  another  letter  to 
send  with  that,  because  you  will  want  to  know  the  end 
at  the  same  time  you  do  the  beginning. 

It  was  little  pebbles  that  waked  me  up  the  next 
morning,  —  little  pebbles  dropping  down  on  my  face. 
I  looked  up  to  find  where  they  came  from,  and  saw 
Tom  Gush  standing  in  the  door.  He  was  throwing  them. 
He  made  signs  that  he  wanted  to  tell  me  something. 
So  I  got  up.  And  while  I  was  getting  up,  I  saw  my 
overjacket  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  I  found  out  after- 
wards that  Benjie  brought  it  in,  and  forgot  to  tell 
me. 

Tom  made  signs  for  me  to  go  down  stairs  with  him. 
He  would  n't  let  me  put  my  shoes  on.  He  had  his  in 
his  hand,  and  I  carried  mine  so.  So  we  went  through 
the  long  entries  in  our  stocking-feet,  and  sat  down  on  the 
doorstep  to  put  our  shoes  on.  Nobody  else  had  got  up. 
The  sky  was  growing  red.  I  never  got  up  so  early  be- 
fore, except  one  Fourth  of  July,  when  I  did  n't  go  to  bed, 
but  only  slept  some  with  my  head  leaned  down  on  a  win- 
dow-seat, and  jumped  up  when  I  heard  a  gun  go  off. 
Tom  carried  me  to  a  place  a  good  ways  from  the  house. 
Our  shoes  got  soaking  wet  with  dew. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  what  he  said  to  me. 

He  asked  me  if  I  saw  him  anywhere  the  night  before. 
I  said  I  did. 

He  asked  me  where  I  saw  him. 

I  said  I  saw  him  coming  out  of  the  hen-house,  where 
3  D 


50  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

Gapper  Skyblue  kept  his  rabbits.  He  asked  me  if  I 
was  sure,  and  I  said  I  was  sure. 

"  And  did  you  tell  the  master  ?  "  says  he. 

I  said,  "  No." 

"  Nor  the  boys  ? 

«  No." 

Then  he  told  me  he  had  been  turned  away  from  one 
school  on  account  of  his  bad  actions,  and  he  would  n't 
have  his  father  hear  of  this  for  anything ;  and  said  that, 
if  I  would  n't  tell,  he  would  give  me  a  four-bladed  knife, 
and  quite  a  large  balloon,  and  show  me  how  to  send  her 
up,  and  if  I  was  flogged  he  would  give  me  a  good  deal 
more,  would  give  money,  —  would  give  two  dollars. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  '11  whip  you,"  says  he,  "  for  he 
likes  you.  And  if  he  does,  he  would  n't  whip  a  small 
boy  so  hard  as  he  would  a  big  one." 

I  said  a  little  whipping  would  hurt  a  little  boy  just  as 
much  as  a  great  whipping  would  hurt  a  great  boy.  But 
I  said  I  would  n't  be  mean  enough  to  tell  or  to  take  pay 
for  not  telling. 

He  did  n't  say  much  more.  And  we  went  towards 
home  then.  But  before  we  came  to  the  house,  he  turned 
off  into  another  path. 

A  little  while  after,  I  heard  somebody  walking  behind 
me.  I  looked  round,  and  there  was  the  master.  He  'd 
been  watching  with  a  sick  man  all  night. 

He  asked  me  where  I  had  been  so  early.  I  said  I  had 
been  taking  a  walk.  He  asked  who  the  boy  was  that 
had  ju>t  left  me.  I  said  't  was  Tom  Cush.  He  asked  if 
I  was  willing  to  tell  what  we  had  been  talking  about.  I 
said  I  would  rather  not  tell. 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  51 

Says  he,  "  It  has  a  bad  look,  your  being  out  with  that 
boy  so  early,  after  what  happened  last  night." 

Then  he  asked  me  where  I  had  found  my  overjacket. 
I  said,  "  In  my  chamber,  sir,  on  a  chair-back." 

"  And  how  came  it  there  ?  "  says  he. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  says  I. 

And,  Grandmother,  I  almost  cried ;  for  everything 
seemed  going  against  me,  to  make  me  out  a  bad  boy.  I 
will  tell  the  rest  after  supper. 

Your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER,  — 

Now  I  will  tell  you  what  happened  that  afternoon. 

The  school  was  about  half  done. 

The  master  gave  three  loud  raps  with  his  ruler. 

This  made  the  room  very  still. 

He  asked  the  other  teachers  to  come  up  to  the  plat- 
form. And  they  did. 

Next,  he  waved  his  ruler,  and  said,  "  Fold." 

And  we  all  folded  our  arms. 

It  was  so  still  that  we  could  hear  the  clock  tick. 

He  told  Tom  Gush  to  close  the  windows  and  shut  the 
blinds. 

Then  he  talked  to  us  about  stealing  and  telling  lies. 
Said  he  did  n't  like  to  punish,  but  it  must  be  done.  He 
said  he  had  reason  to  believe  that  the  boy  whose  name 
he  should  call  out  was  not  honest,  that  he  took  other 
people's  things  and  told  lies. 

Then  he  told  the  story,  all  that  he  knew  about  it,  and 
said  he  hoped  that  all  concerned  in  it  would  have  honor 
enough  to  speak  out  and  own  it. 


52 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


Nobody  said  anything. 

Then  the  master  said, "  William  Henry,  yon  may  come 
to  the  platform." 

I  went  up. 

Somebody  way  in  the  back  part  shouted  out,  "  Don't 
believe  it ! " 

"  Silence ! "  said  the  master.  And  he  thumped  his 
ruler  on  the  desk. 

Then  he  told  me  to  take  off  my  jacket,  and  fold  it  up. 
And  I  did. 

He  told  me  to  hand  my  collar  and  ribbon  to  a  teacher. 
And  I  did. 

Then  he  laid  down  his  ruler,  and  took  his  rod  and 
bent  it  to  see  if  it  was  limber.  It  was  n't  exactly  a  rod. 
It  was  the  thing  I  told  you  about  when  I  first  came  to 
this  school. 


He  tried  it  twice  on  the  desk  first. 

Then  he  took  hold  of  my  shoulder  and  turned  my 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  53 

back  round  towards  him.  He  said  I  had  better  bend 
down  my  head  a  little,  and  took  hold  of  the  neck  of  my 
shirt  to  keep  me  steady.  I  shut  my  teeth  together  tight. 

At  that  very  minute  Bubby  Short  cried  out,  "  Master  ! 
Master  !  Stop  !  Don't !  He  did  n't  do  it !  He  did  n't  kill 
it !  I  know  who  !  I  '11  tell  !  I  will !  I  will !  I  don't 
care  what  Tom  Gush  does  !  'T  was  Tom  Cush  killed  it !  " 

The  master  did  n't  say  one  word.  But  he  handed  me 
my  jacket. 

The  boys  all  clapped  and  gave  three  cheers,  and  he 
let  them. 

Then  he  said  to  me,  whispering,  "  Is  this  so,  William  ?  " 
And  I  said,  low,  "Yes,  sir." 

Then  he  took  hold  of  my  hand  and  led  me  to  my  seat. 
And  when  I  sat  down  he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder 
just  as  softly,  —  it  made  me  remember  the  way  my 
mother  used  to  before  she  died,  and,  says  he,  "  My  dear 
boy,"  then  stopped  and  began  again,  "  My  dear  boy,"  and 
stopped  again.  If  he  'd  been  a  boy  I  should  have  thought 
he  was  going  to  cry  himself.  But  of  course  a  man 
would  n't.  And  what  should  he  cry  for?  It  was  n't  he 
that  almost  had  a  whipping.  At  last  he  told  me  to  come 
to  his  room  after  supper.  Then  Bubby  Short  was  called 
up  to  the  platform. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  how  Bubby  Short  found  out  about  it. 

He  sleeps  in  a  little  bed  in  a  little  bit  of  a  room  that 
lets  out  of  Tom's.  'T  is  n't  much  bigger  than  a  closet. 
But  it  is  just  right  for  him.  That  morning  when  Tom 
got  up  so  early  and  threw  pebbles  at  me,  Bubby  Short 
had  been  keeping  awake  with  the  toothache.  And  he 
heard  Tom  telling  another  boy  about  the  rabbit. 


54  THE   WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

He  made  believe  sleep.  But  once,  while  Tom  was 
dressing  himself,  he  peeped  out  from  under  the  bedquilt, 
with  one  eye,  to  see  a  black-and-blue  spot,  that  Tom  said 
he  hit  his  head  against  a  post  and  made,  when  he  was 
running. 

But  they  caught  him  peeping  out,  and  were  dreadful 
mad  because  he  heard,  and  said  if  he  told  one  single 
word  they  would  flog  him.  But  he  says  he  would  have 
told  before,  if  he  had  known  it  had  been  laid  to  me. 

Was  n't  he  a  nice  little  fellow  to  tell  ? 

0,  I  was  so  glad  when  the  boys  all  clapped !  And 
when  we  were  let  out,  they  came  and  shook  hands  with 
Bubby  Short  and  me.  Great  boys  and  all.  Mr.  Augus- 
tus, and  Dorry,  and  all.  And  the  master  told  me  how 
glad  he  was  that  he  could  keep  on  thinking  me  to  be  an 
honest  boy. 

Now  are  n't  you  glad  you  did  n't  feel  sorry  ? 
Your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRT. 

The  next  time  I  went  down  to  the  farm  I  was  told,  of  course, 
all  about  the  foregoing  letters,  —  how  they  were  received,  and 
what  effect  they  produced  in  the  family  when  they  were  read. 
Grandmother,  however,  gives  a  happy  account  of  the  recep- 
tion and  reading  of  them  in  the  following  reply,  which  she 
wrote  soon  after  they  were  received. 

Grandmother's  Letter  to  William  Henry,  in  reply. 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  BOY,  — 

Your  poor  old  grandmother  was  so  glad  to  get  those 
letters,  after  such  long  waiting !  My  dear  child,  we  were 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  55 

anxious-,  but  now  we  are  pleased.  I  was  afraid  you 
were  down  with  the  measles,  for  they  're  about.  Your 
aunt  Phebe  thinks  you  had  'em  when  you  were  a  month 
old  ;  but  I  know  better. 

Your  father  was  anxious  himself  at  not  hearing  ;  though 
he  did  n't  show  it  any.  But  I  could  see  it  plain  enough. 
As  soon  as  he  brought  the  letters  in,  I  set  a  light  in  the 
window  to  let  your  aunt  Phebe  know  she  was  wanted. 
She  came  running  across  the  yard,  all  of  a  breeze.  You 
know  how  your  aunt  Phebe  always  comes  running  in. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  says  she.  "  Letters  from  Billy  ?  I 
mistrusted  't  was  letters  from  Billy.  In  his  own  hand- 
writing ?  Must  have  had  'em  pretty  light.  Measles 
commonly  leave  the  eyes  very  bad." 

But  you  know  how  your  aunt  Phebe  goes  running  on. 
Your  father  came  in,  and  sat  down  in  his  rocking-chair, 
• — your  mother's  chair,  dear.  Your  sister  was  sewing  on 
her  doll's  cloak  by  the  little  table.  She  sews  remarkably 
well  for  a  little  girl. 

"  Now,  Phebe,"  says  I,  "  read  loud,  and  do  speak  every 
word  plain."  I  put  on  my'  glasses,  and  drew  close  up, 
for  she  does  speak  her  words  so  fast.  I  have  to  look  her 
right  in  the  face. 

At  the  beginning,  where  you  speak  about  being 
whipped,  your  father's  rocking-chair  stopped  stock  still. 
You  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  Georgianna  said, 
"  O  dear ! "  and  down  dropped  the  doll's  cloak. 
"  Pshaw!"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  "'t  is  n't  very  likely  our 
Billy  's  been  whipped." 

Then  she  read  on  and  on,  and  not  one  of  us  spoke. 
Your  father  kept  his  arms  folded  up,  and  never  raised  his 


56  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

eyes.  I  had  to  look  away,  towards  the  last,  for  I  could  n't 
see  through  my  glasses.  Georgianna  cried.  And,  when 
the  end  came,  we  all  wiped  our  eyes. 

"  Now  what 's  the  use,"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  "  for  folks 
to  cry  before  they  're  hurt  ?  " 

"  But  you  almost  cried  yourself,"  said  Georgianna. 
"  Your  voice  was  different,  and  your  nose  is  red  now." 
And  that  was  true. 

After  your  sister  was  in  bed,  and  Aunt  Phebe  gone, 
your  father  says  to  me :  "  Grandma,  the  boy  's  like  his 
mother."  And  he  took  a  walk  around  the  place,  and  then 
went  off  to  his  bedroom  without  even  opening  his  night's 
paprr.  If  ever  a  man  set  store  by  his  boy,  that  man  is 
your  father.  And,  O  Billy,  if  you  had  done  anything 
mean,  or  disgraced  yourself  in  any  way,  what  a  dreadful 
blow  't  would  have  been  to  us  all ! 

The  measles  come  with  a  cough.  The  first  thing  is  to 
drive  'em  out.  Get  a  nurse.  That  is,  if  you  catch  them. 
They  're  a  natural  sickness,  and  one  sensible  old  woman 
is  better  than  half  a  dozen  doctors.  Saffron  's  good  to 
drive  'em  out. 

Aunt  Phebe  is  knitting  you  a  comforter.     As  if  she 
had  n't  family  enough  of  her  own  to  do  for  ! 
From  your  loving 

GRANDMOTHER. 


I  think  this  the  proper  place  to  insert  the  following  letter 
from  Dorry  Baker  to  his  sister.  I  am  sorry  we  have  so  few 
of  Dorry's  letters.  Two  very  entertaining  ones  will  be  given 
presently,  describing  a  visit  Dorry  made  to  William  Henry's 
home.  The  two  boys,  as  we  shall  see,  soon  after  tbeir  ac- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENKY   LETTERS.  6< 

quaintance,  grew  to  be  remarkably  good  friends.  Mr.  Baker, 
Dorry's  father,  hearing  his  son's  glowing  accounts  of  William 
Henry's  family,  took  a  little  trip  to  Summer  Sweeting  place 
on  purpose  to  see  them,  and  was  so  well  pleased  with  Grand- 
mother, Mr.  Carver,  Uncle  Jacob,  and  the  rest,  as  to  sug' 
gest  to  his  wife  that  they  should  buy  some  land  in  the  vicin' 
ity,  and  turn  farmers.  He^and  Grandmother  had  a  very 
pleasant  talk  about  their  boys;  and  not  long  after,  knowing, 
I  suppose,  that  it  would  gratify  the  old  lady,  he  sent  hei 
some  of  Dorry's  letters,  that  she  might  have  the  pleasure  of 
reading  for  herself  what  Dorry  had  written  about  her  Billy, 
and  about  Billy's  people  and  Billy's  home.  Perhaps,  too, 
Mr.  Baker  was  a  little  bit  proud  of  the  smart  letters  his  son 
could  write. 

Dorry's  Letter  to  his  Sister. 

DEAR  Sis, — 

If  mother  's  real  clever,  I  want  you  to  ask  her  some- 
thing right  away.  But  if  it 's  baking-day,  or  washing- 
day,  or  company  's  coming  off,  or  preserves  going  on, 
or  anything 's  upset  down  below ;  or  if  she 's  got  a 
headache  or  a  dress-maker,  or  anything  else  that 's  bad, 
—  then  wait. 

I  want  you  to  ask  her  if  I  may  bring  home  a  boy  to 
spend  Saturday.  Not  a  very  big  boy,  —  do  very  well  to 
"  Philopene  "  with  you  :  won't  put  her  out  a  bit. 

If  you  don't  like  him  at  first,  you  will  afterwards. 
When  he  first  came  we  used  to  plague  him  on  account 
of  his  looks.  He 's  got  a  furious  head  of  hair,  and 
freckles.  But  we  don't  think  at  all  about  his  looks  now. 
If  anything,  we  like  his  looks. 

He  's  just  as  pleasant  and  gen'rous,  and  not  a  mean 
3* 


58  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

thing  about  him.  I  don't  believe  he  would  tell  a  lie  to 
save  his  life.  I  know  he  would  n't.  He  's  always  will- 
ing to  help  everybody.  And  had  just  as  lief  give  any- 
thing away  as  not.  And  when  he  plays,  he  plays  fair. 
Some  boys  cheat  to  make  their  side  beat.  You  don't 
catch  William  Henry  at  any  such  mean  business.  All 
the  boys  believe  every  word  he  says.  Teachers  too. 

I  will  tell  you  how  he  made  me  ashamed  of  myself. 
Me  and  some  other  boys. 

One  day  he  had  a  box  come  from  home.  'T  was  his 
birthday.  It  was  full  of  good  things.  Says  I  to  the 
boys,  "  Now,  maybe,  if  we  had  n't  plagued  him  so,  he 
would  give  us  some  of  his  goodies." 

That  very  afternoon,  when  we  had  done  playing,  and 
ran  up  to  brush  the  mud  off  our  trousers,  we  found  a 
table  all  spread  out  with  a  table-cloth  that  he  had  bor- 
rowed, and  in  the  middle  was  a  frosted  cake  with  "  W. 
H."  on  top  done  in  red  sugar.  And  close  to  that  were 
some  oranges,  and  a  dish  full  of  nuts,  and  as  much  as  a 
pound  of  candy,  and  more  figs  than  that,  and  four  great 
cakes  of  maple-sugar,  made  on  his  father's  land,  as  big 
as  small  johnny-cakes,  and  another  kind  of  cake.  And 
dcughnuts. 

"  Come,  boys,"  says  he,  "  help  yourselves." 

But  not  a  boy  stirred. 

I  felt  my  face  a-blushing  like  everything.  O,  we  were 
all  of  us  just  as  ashamed  as.  we  could  be  !  We  did  n't 
dare  go  near  the  table.  But  he  kept  inviting  us,  and 
at  last  began  to  pass  them  round. 

And  I  tell  you  the  things  were  tip-top  and  more  too. 
Such  cake !  And  doughnuts,  that  his  cousin  made ! 


THE   WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  .  59 

And  tarts !  You  must  learn  how.  But  I  don't  believe 
you  ever  could.  Of  course  we  bad  manners  enough  not 
to  take  as  much  as  we  wanted.  I  want  to  tell  you  some 
more  things  about  him.  But  wait  till  I  come.  He  's 
most  as  old  as  you  are,  and  is  always  a  laughing,  the 
same  as  you  are. 

Ask  mother  what  I  told  you.  Take  her  at  her  clever- 
est, and  don't  eat  up  all  the  sweet  apples. 

From  your  brother, 

DORRY. 

P.  S.  Put  some  away  in  meal  to  mellow.  Don't 
mellow  'em  with  your  knuckles. 

Mrs.  Baker,  I  imagine,  was  not  particularly  fond  of  boys. 
She  gave  her  permission,  however,  for  Dorry  to  bring  a 
"  muddy-shoed  "  companion  home  with  him,  as  we  see  by  the 
following  letter  from  William  Henry  to  his  grandmother. 

A  Letter  from    William  Henry. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

Dorry  asked  his  sister  to  ask  his  mother  if  he  might 
ask  me  to  go  home  with  him.  And  she  said  yes;  but  to 
wait  a  week  first,  because  the  house  was  just  got  ready 
to  have  a  great  party,  and  she  could  n't  stand  two  muddy- 
shoed  boys.  May  I  go  ? 

Tom  Cush  was  sent  home ;  but  he  did  n't  go.  His 
father  lives  in  the  same  town  that  Dorry  does.  He  has 
been  here  to  look  for  him. 

I  never  went  to  make  anybody  a  visit.  I  hope  you 
will  say  yes.  I  should  like  to  have  some  money.  Ev- 


60  THK  WILLIAM  HENRY  LKTTERS. 

erybody  tells  boys  not  to  spend  money ;  but  if  they  knew 
how  many  things  boys  want,  and  everything  tasted  so 
good,  I  believe  they  would  spend  money  themselves. 
Please  write  soon. 

From  your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

« 

To  this  short  letter  Grandmother  sent  at  once  the  follow- 
ing reply  ;  and  in  the  succeeding  letters  from  William  Henry 
we  get  a  pretty  good  idea  of  what  sort  of  people  Dorry's  folks 
were,  and  also  hear  something  about  Tom  Cush. 

Grandmother's  Second  Letter. 
MY  DEAR  BOY, — 

Do  you  have  clothes  enough  on  your  bed  ?  Ask  for 
an  extra  blanket.  I  do  hope  you  will  take  care  of  your- 
self. When  the  rain  beats  against  the  windows,  I  think, 
"  Now  who  will  see  that  he  stands  at  the  fire  and  dries 
himself?  And  you  're  very  apt  to  hoarse  up  nights. 
We  are  willing  you  should  go  to  see  Dorry.  Your  uncle 
J.  has  been  past  his  father's  place,  and  he  says  there 's 
been  a  pretty  sum  of  money  laid  out  there.  Behave  well. 
Wear  your  best  clothes.  Your  aunt  Phebe  has  bought 
a  book  for  her  girls  that  tells  them  how  to  behave.  It  is 
for  boys  too,  or  for  anybody.  I  shall  give  you  a  little 
advice,  and  mix  some  of  the  book  in  with  it. 

Never  interrupt.  Some  children  are  always  putting 
themselves  forward  when  grown  people  are  talking.  Put 
"  sir  "  or  "  ma'am  "  to  everything  you  say.  Make  a  bow 
when  introduced.  If  you  don't  know  how,  try  it  at  a 
looking-glass.  Black  your  shoes,  and  toe  out  if  you  pos- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  61 

sibly  can.  I  hope  you  know  enough  to  say  "  Thank  you," 
and  when  to  say  it.  Take  your  hat  off,  without  fail,  and 
step  softly,  and  wipe  your  feet. 

Be  sure  and  have  some  woman  look  at  you  before  you 
start,  to  see  that  you  are  all  right.  Behave  properly 
at  table.  The  best  way  will  be  to  watch  and  see  how 
others  do.  But  don't  stare.  There  is  a  way  of  looking 
without  seeming  to  look.  A  sideways  way. 

Anybody  with  common  sense  will  soon  learn  how  to 
conduct  properly  ;  and  even  if  you  should  make  a  mis- 
take, when  trying  to  do  your  best,  it  is  n't  worth  while  to 
feel  very  much  ashamed.  Wrong  actions  are  the  ones  to 
be  ashamed  of.  And  let  me  say  now,  once  for  all,  never 
be  ashamed  because  your  father  is  a  farmer  and  works 
with  his  hands.  Your  father 's  a  man  to  be  proud  of ; 
he  is  kind  to  the  poor ;  he  is  pleasant  in  his  family ;  he 
is  honest  in  his  business  ;  he  reads  high  kind  of  books  ; 
he  's  a  kind,  noble  Christian  man  ;  and  Dorry's  father 
can't  be  more  than  all  this,  let  him  own  as  much  property 
as  he  may.  * 

I  mention  this  because  young  folks  are  apt  to  think  a 
great  deal  more  of  a  man  that  has  money. 

Your  aunt  Phebe  wants  to  know  if  you  won't  write 
home  from  Dorry's,  because  her  Matilda  wants  a  stamp 
from   that  post-office.     If  the  colt  brings  a  very  gujd 
price,  you  may  get  a  very  good  answer  to  your  riddle. 
From  your  loving 

GRANDMOTHER. 

P.  S.  Take  your  overcoat  on  your  arm.  When  you 
come  away,  bid  good  by,  and  say  that  you  have  had  a 
good  time.  If  you  have  had,  —  not  without. 


62  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

William  Henry's  Reply. 
DEAR  GRANDMOTHER,  — 

I  am  here.  The  master  let  us  off  yesterday  noon,  and 
we  got  here  before  supper,  and  this  is  Saturday  night,  and 
I  have  minded  all  the  things  that  you  said.  I  got  all 
ready  and  went  down  to  the  Two  Betseys  to  let  some 
woman  look  at  me,  as  you  wrote.  They  put  on  both  their 
spectacles  and  looked  me  all  over,  and  picked  off  some 
dirt-specks,  and  made  me  gallus  up  one  leg  of  my  trousers 
shorter,  and  make  some  bows,  and  then  walk  across  the 
room  slow. 

They  thought  I  looked  beautiful,  only  my  hair  was  too 
long.  Lame  Betsey  said  she  used  to  be  the  beater  for 
cutting  hair,  and  she  tied  her  apron  round  my  throat,  and 
brought  a  great  pair  of  shears  out,  that  she  uged  to  go 
a-tailoring  with.  The  Other  Betsey,  she  kept  watch  to 
see  when  both  sides  looked  even. 

Lame  Betsey  tried  very  hard.  First  she  stood  off  to 
look,  and  then  she  stood  on  again.  She  said  her  mother 
used  to  keep  a  quart-bowl  on  purpose  to  cut  her  boys' 
hairs  with  ;  she  clapped  it  over  their  heads,  and  then 
clipped  all  round  by  it  even.  The  shears  were  jolly 
shears,  only  they  could  n't  stop  themselves  easy,  and  the 
apron  had  been  where  snuff  was,  and  made  me  sneeze  in 
the  wrong  place.  Says  I,  u  If  you  '11  only  take  off  this 
apron,  I  '11  jump  up  and  shake  myself  out  even."  I  'm  so 
glad  I  'm  a  boy.  Aprons  are  horrid.  So  are  apron- 
strings,  Dorry  says. 

They  gave  me  a  few  peppermints,  and  said  to  be  sure 
not  to  run  my  head  out  and  get  it  knocked  off  in  the 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


G3 


cars,  and  not  to  get  out  till  we  stopped  going,  and  to  be- 
ware of  pickpockets. 

O,  we  did  have  a  jolly  ride  in  the  cars  !  Do  you  think 
my  father  would  let  me  be  the  boy  that  sells  papers  in 
the  cars?  I  wish  he  would.  I  did  n't  see  any  pick- 
pockets. We  got  out  two  miles  before  we  got  there.  I 
mean  to  the  right  station.  For  Dorry  wanted  to  make 
his  sister  Maggie  think  we  had  n't  come. 

We  took  a  short  cut  through  the  fields.  Not  very  short. 
And  went  through  everything.  My  best  clothes  too.  But 
I  guess  't  will  all  rub  off.  There  were  some  boggy  places. 

When  we  came  out  at  Dorry's  house,  it  was  in  the 


64  THE   WILLIAM   HEXKY    LKTTl.lIS. 

back  yard.     I  said  to  Dorry,  "  There 's  your  mother  on 
the  doorstep.     She  looks  clever." 

Dorry  said,  "  She  ?     She  's  the  cook.     I  '11  tell  mother 
of  that.     No,  I  won't  neither." 

I  suppose  he  saw  I  'd  rather  he  would  n't.  The  cook 
said  everybody  had  gone  out.  Then  Dorry  took  me  into 
a  jolly  great  room  and  left  me.  Three  kinds  of  curtains 
to  every  window  !  What 's  the  use  of  that  ?  Gilt  spots  on 
the  paper,  and  gilt  things  hanging  down  from  up  above. 
A  good  many  kinds  of  chairs.  I  was  going  to  sit  down, 
but  they  kept  sinking  in.  Everything  sinks  in  here.  I 
tried  three,  and  this  made  me  laugh,  for  I  seemed  10  my- 
self like  the  little  boy  that  went  to  the  bears'  house  and 
tried  their  chairs,  and  their  beds,  and  their  bowls  of  milk. 
Then  I  came  to  a  looking-glass  big  enou»h  for  the  very  big- 
gest bear.  I  thought  I  would  make  some  bows  before  it,  as 
you  said.  I  was  afraid  I  could  n't  make  a  bow  and  toe 
out  at  the  same  time.  Because  it  is  hard  to  think  up 
and  down  both  at  once.  While  I  was  trying  to,  I  heard 
a  little  noise,  I  looked  round,  and —  what  do  you  think? 
Bears  ?  0  no.  Not  bears.  A  queen  and  a  princess,  I 
thought.  All  over  bright  colors  and  feathers  and  shiny 
silks.  The  queen  —  that  's  Dorry's  mother  you  know, 
—  could  n't  think  who  I  was,  because  they  had  been  to 
the  depot,  and  thought  we  had  n't  come.  So  she  looked 
at  me  hard,  and  I  suppose  I  was  very  muddy.  And  she 
said,  "  Were  you  sent  of  an  errand  here  ?  "  Before  1 
could  make  up  any  answer,  Dorry  came  in.  He  had 
some  cake,  and  he  passed  it  round  with  a  very  sober 
face.  Then  he  introduced  me,  and  I  made  quite  a  good 
bow,  and  said,  "  Very  well,  I  thank  you,  ma'am." 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  65 

I  tried  to  pull  my  feet  behind  me,  and  wished  I  was  sit- 
ting down,  for  she  kept  looking  towards  them ;  and  I 
wanted  to  sit  down  on  the  lounge,  but  I  was  afraid 
't  would  n't  bear.  She  was  quite  glad  to  see  Dorry.  But 
did  n't  hug  him  very  hard.  I  know  why.  Because  she 
had  those  good  things  on.  Dorry's  grandmother  lives 
here.  She  can't  bear  to  hear  a  door  slam.  She  wears 
her  black  silk  dress  every  day.  And  her  best  cap  too. 
'T  is  a  stunner  of  a  cap.  White  as  anything.  And  a 
good  deal  of  white  strings  to  it.  Everything  makes  her 
head  ache.  I  'd  a  good  deal  rather  have  you.  When 
boys  come  nigh,  she  puts  her  hand  out  to  keep  them  off. 
This  is  because  she  has  nerves.  Dorry  says  his  mother 
has  'em  sometimes.  I  like  his  father.  Because  he  talks 
to  me  some.  But  he 's  very  tired.  His  office  tires  him. 
He  is  n't  a  very  big  man.  He  does  n't  laugh  any.  If 
Maggie  was  a  boy  she  'd  be  jolly.  She  '11  fly  kites,  or 
anything,  if  her  mother  is  n't  looking.  Her  mother  don't 
seem  a  bit  like  Aunt  Phebe.  I  don't  believe  she  could 
lift  a  tea-kettle.  Not  a  real  one.  When  she  catches 
hold  of  her  fork,  she  sticks  her  little  finger  right  up  in 
the  air.  She  makes  very  pretty  bows  to  the  company. 
Sinks  way  down,  almost  out  of  sight.  She  gave  us  a 
dollar  to  spend  ;'  was  n't  she  clever  ?  Dorry  says  she 
likes  him  tip- top.  If  he  '11  only  keep  out  of  the  way. 

I  guess  I'd  rather  live  at  our  house.  About  every 
room  in  this  house  is  too  good  for  a  boy.  But  I  tell  you 
they  have  tip-top  things  here.  Great  pictures  and  silver 
dishes  !  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  mean  to  do  when  I  'm  a 
man.  I  shall  have  a  great  nice  house  like  this,  and  nice 
things  in  it.  But  the  folks  shall  be  like  our  folks.  I 

B 


66  THE   WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

shall  have  horses,  and  a  good  many  silver  dishes.  And 
great  pictures,  and  gilt  books  for  children  that  come 
a-visiting.  And  you  shall  have  a  blue  easy-chair,  and  sit 
down  to  rest. 

Now,  maybe  you  '11  say,  "  But,  Billy,  Billy,  where  are 
you  going  to  get  all  these  fine  things?"  O  you  silly 
grandmother  !  Don't  you  remember  your  own  saying 
that  you  wrote  down  ?  —  "  What  a  man  wants  he  can 
get,  if  he  tries  hard  enough."  Or  a  boy  either,  you  said. 
I  shall  try  hard  enough.  There  's  more  to  write  about. 
But  I  'm  sleepy.  I  would  tell  you  about  Tom  Gush's 
father  coming  here,  only  my  eyes  can't  keep  open.  Is  n't 
it  funny  that  when  you  are  sleepy  your  eyes  keep  shut- 
ting up  and  your  mouth  keeps  coming  open  ?  Please 
excuse  the  lines  that  go  crooked.  There  's  another  gape  ! 
I  guess  Aunt  Phebe  will  be  tired  reading  all  this.  I  'm 
on  her  side.  I  mean  about  measles.  I  'd  rather  have 
'em  when  I  was  a  month  old.  I  suppose  I  was  a  month 
old  once.  Don't  seem  as  if  't  was  the  same  one  I  am 
now.  But  if  I  do  have  'em,  —  there  I  go  gaping  again, 
—  if  I  catch  'em,  and  all  the  doctors  do  come,  I  '11  —  O 
dear  !  There  I  go  again.  I  do  believe  I  'm  asleep  — 
I  '11  —  I  '11  get  some  natural-born  old  woman  to  drive  'em 
out,  as  you  said,  and  good  night. 

WILLIAM  HENBY. 

Mr  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  am  back  again,  and  had  a  good  time ;  but  came  back 
hungry.  I  '11  tell  you  why.  The  first  time  I  sat  down 
to  table  I  felt  bashful,  and  Dorry's  mother  said  a  great 
deal  about  my  having  a  small  appetite,  and  afterwards  I 
did  n't  like  to  make  her  think  it  was  a  large  one. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  67 

I  guess  I  behaved  quite  well  at  the  table.  But  I 
could  n't  look  the  way  you  said.  It  made  me  feel  squint- 
eyed.  Once  I  almost  laughed  at  table.  The  day  they 
had  roast  duck,  it  smelt  nice.  I  thought  it  would  n't 
go  round,  for  they  had  company  besides  me  ;  and  I  said, 
"  No,  I  thank  you,  ma'am."  Dorry  whispered  to  me, 
"  You  must  be  a  goose  not  to  love  duck  "  ;  and  that  was 
when  I  almost  laughed  at  table.  His  grandmother  shook 
her  head  at  him. 

Now  I'll  tell  about  Tom  Cush's  father.  That  Sat- 
urday, when  we  were  eating  dinner,  somebody  came  to 
the  front  door,  and  inquired  for  us  two,  —  Dorry  and  me. 
It  was  Tom  Cush's  father.  He  wanted  to  ask  us  about 
Tom,  and  whether  we  knew  anything  about  him.  But 
we  knew  no  more  than  he  did.  He  talked  some  with  us. 
The  next  evening,  —  Sunday  evening,  —  Tom  Cush's 
mother  sent  for  Dorry  and  me  to  come  and  see  her.  His 
father  came  after  us.  She  said  they  wanted  to  know 
more  about  what  I  wrote  to  you  in  those  letters. 

O,  I  don't  want  ever  again  to  go  where  the  folks  are 
so  sober.  The  room  was  just  as  still  as  anything,  not 
much  light  burning,  and  great  curtains  hanging  way 
down,  and  she  looked  like  a  sick  woman.  Just  as  pale  ! 
Only  sometimes  she  stood  up  and  walked,  and  then  sat 
down  again,  and  leaned  way  forward,  and  asked  a  ques- 
tion, and  looked  into  our  faces  so.  We  did  n't  know  what 
to  do.  Dorry  talked  more  than  I  could.  Tom's  father 
kept  just  as  sober  !  He  said  to  Dorry  :  "  It  is  true,  then, 
that  my  boy  would  n't  own  up  to  his  own  actions  ?  "  or 
something  like  that. 

Dorry  said,  "  Yes,  sir." 


68  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Tom's  father  said,  "  And  he  was  willing  to  sit  still  and 
see  another  boy  whipped  in  his  place  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  Dorry  said.  But  he  didn't  say  it  very 
loud. 

Then  they  stopped  asking  questions,  and  not  one  of  us 
spoke  for  ever  so  long.  O,  't  was  so  still !  At  last  Dorry 
said,  just  as  softly,  "  Can't  you  find  him  anywhere  ? " 
And  then  I  said  that  I  did  n't  believe  he  was  lost. 

Then  Tom's  father  got  up  from  his  chair  and  said, 
"  Lost  ?  That 's  not  it.  That 's  not  it.  'T  is  his  not 
being  honorable !  'T  is  his  not  being  true !  Lost  ? 
Why,  he  was  lost  before  he  left  the  school."  Says  he  : 
"  When  he  did  a  mean  thing,  then  he  lost  himself.  For 
he  lost  his  truth.  He  lost  his  honor.  There  's  nothing 
left  worth  having  when  they  are  gone." 

O,  I  never  saw  Dorry  so  sober  as  he  was  that  night 
going  home.  And  when  we  went  to  bed,  he  hardly  spoke 
a  word,  and  did  n't  throw  pillows,  or  anything.  I  shut 
my  eyes  up  tight  and  thought  about  you  all  at  home,  and 
Aunt  Phebe,  and  Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy,  and  about 
school,  and  about  Bubby  Short,  and  all  the  time  Tom's 
mother's  eyes  kept  looking  at  me  just  as  they  did  ;  and 
when  I  was  asleep  I  seemed  back  again  in  that  lonesome 
room,  and  they  two  sitting  there. 

From  your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  I  want  to  tell  that  when  I  was  at  Dorry's  I  let 
a  little  vase  fall  down  and  break.  I  did  n't  think  it  was 
so  rotten.  I  felt  sorry  ;  but  did  n't  say  so  ;  I  did  n't 
know  how  to  say  it  very  welL  I  wish  grown-up  folks 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  69 

would  know  that  boys  feel  sorry  very  often  when  they 
don't  say  so,  and  sometimes  they  think  about  doing  right, 
too.  And  mean  to,  ftwt  don't  tell  of  it.  Next  time  I 
shall  tell  about  Bubby  Short  and  me  going  to  ride  in 
Gapper's  donkey-cart.  He  's  going  to  lend  it  to  us.  I 
should  like  to  buy  them  a  new  vase. 

W.  H. 

P.  S.     Benjie  's  had  a  letter,  and  one  twin  fell  down 

stairs. 

There  is  one  sentence  in  the  first  paragraph  of  the  follow- 
ing letter  which  reminds  me  of  a  very  windy  day,  when  I 
was  staying  at  Summer  Sweeting  place. 

In  returning  from  a  walk,  by  a  short  cut  across  the  field, 
I  met  a  boy  who  was  running  just  about  as  fast  as  he  could. 

Soon  after  I  came  to  another  and  much  smaller  boy,  who 
was  not  running  at  all,  but  was  sitting  fiat  upon  the  ground, 
under  a  tree,  and  crying  with  might  and  main.  This  smaller 
boy  proved  to  be  Tommy.  On  a  branch  of  the  tree,  just  out 
of  his  reach,  hung  a  broom,  towards  which  his  weeping  eyes 
were  turned  in  despair.  A  paper  of  peanuts  which  I  hap- 
pened to  have  soon  quieted  him,  because,  in  order  to  crack 
them,  he  had  to  shut  his  mouth.  At  the  first  of  it,  however, 
he  went  on  with  his  crying  while  picking  out  the  meats,  which 
so  amused  me  that  I  was  obliged  to  turn  aside  and  laugh. 

It  appeared  that  Tommy  had  been  riding  horseback  on  his 
mother's  broom  "  to  see  Billy,"  and  when  he  had  made  believe 
get  thf-re,  he  wanted  to  hitch  his  horse.  A  larger  boy,  out 
of  mischief,  or  rather  in  mischief,  bent  down  a  branch  of  the 
tree,  te'ling  Tommy  there  was  a  tiptop  thing  to  tie  up  to. 
He  helped  Tommy  to  ti^  the  horse  to  the  branch,  and  then 
ran  off  across  the  field.  It  is  very  plain  what  happened  when 
the  branch  sprang  back  to  its  place. 


70  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

I  unhitched  the  animal,  and  then  Tommy  and  I  mounted  it, 
he  behind  me,  and  away  we  cantered  to  the  house,  my 
amazing  gallops  causing  the  little  chap  to  laugh  as  loudly  aa 
he  had  cried. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

Please  to  tell  my  sister  I  am  much  obliged  to  her  for 
picking  up  that  old  iron  for  me.  But  that  old  rusty 
fire-shovel  handle,  I  guess  that  will  not  do  to  put  in 
again.  For  my  father  said,  the  last  time,  that  he  had 
bought  that  old  fire-shovel  handle  half  a  dozen  times. 
But  Aunt  Phebe's  Tommy,  he  pulls  it  out  again  to  ride 
horseback  on. 

I  know  a  little  girl  just  about  as  big  as  my  sister, 
named  Rosy.  Maybe  that  is  not  her  name.  Maybe  it 
is,  because  her  face  is  so  rosy.  She  had  a  lamb.  And 
she  's  lost  it.  It  ate  out  of  her  hand,  and  it  followed  her. 
It  was  a  pet  larab.  But  it 's  lost.  Gapper  came  up  to 
inquire  about  it.  Mr.  Augustus  wrote  a  notice  and 
nailed  it  on  to  the  Liberty  Pole,  and  then  Dorry  chalked 
out  a  white  lamb  on  black  pasteboard,  and  painted  a 
blue  ribbon  around  its  neck,  and  hung  that  up  there  too. 

Gapper  let  Bubby  Short  and  me  have  his  donkey -cart 
to  go  to  ride  in.  He  kicked  up  when  we  licked  him,  and 
broke  something.  But  a  man  came  by  and  mended  it. 
So  we  did  n't  get  back  till  after  dark.  But  the  master 
did  n't  say  anything  after  we  told  the  reason  why.  Did 
you  ever  see  a  ghost  ?  Do  you  believe  they  can  whistle  ? 
I  '11  tell  you  what  I  ask  such  a  question  for. 

There  is  an  old  house,  and  part  of  it  is  torn  down,  and 
nobody  lives  in  it.  It  is  built  close  to  where  the  woods 


THE   WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  71 

begin.  The  boys  say  there  is  a  ghost  in  it.  I  '11  tell  you 
why.  They  say  that  if  anybody  goes  by  there  whistling, 
something  inside  of  that  house  whistles  the  same  tune. 
Dorry  says  it 's  a  jolly  old  ghost.  Mr.  Augustus  thinks 
't  is  all  very  silly.  Now  I  '11  tell  you  something. 

The  night  Bubby  Short  and  I  were  coming  back  from 
taking  a  ride  in  Gapper's  donkey-cart,  we  tried  it.  We 
did  n't  dare  to  lick  him  again,  for  fear  he  would  kick  up, 
so  we  rode  just  as  slow  !  —  and  it  was  a  lonesome  road, 
but  the  moon  was  shining  bright. 

Snys  Bubby  Short,  "  Do  you  believe  that 's  the  honey- 
moon ?  " 

"  No,"  says  I.  "  That 's  what  shines  when  a  man  ia 
married  to  his  wife." 

"  Are  you  scared  of  ghosts  ?  "  said  Bubby  Short. 

"  Can't  tell  till  I  see  one,"  says  I. 

"  How  far  off  do  you  suppose  they  can  see  a  fellow  ?  " 
says  he. 

Says  I,  "  I  don't  know.  They  can  see  best  in  the 
dark." 

"  Do  you  think  they  'd  hurt  a  fellow  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Maybe,"  says  I.     "  There  's  the  old  house." 

"  I  know  it,"  says  he  ;  "I  've  been  looking  at  it." 

Says  I,  "  Are  you  scared  to  whistle  ?  " 

"  Scared  !     No,"  says  he.     "  Let 's  whistle,  I  say." 

"  Well."  says  I,  K  you  whistle  first." 

"  No,"  says  he,  "  you  whistle  first." 

"  Let  him  whistle  first,"  says  I. 

"  He  won't  do  it.     Ghosts  never  whistle  first,"  says  ha 

I  asked  him  who  said  that,  and  he  said  't  was  Dorry. 

Then  I  said,  "  Let 's  whistle  together." 


72  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

So  we  waited  till  we  almost  got  p*ast,  and  then  whis- 
tled "  Yankee  Doodle."  And,  grandmother,  it  did,  —  it 
whistled  it. 

Bubby  Short  whispered,  "  Lick  him  a  little." 

Then  I  whispered  back,  "  'T  won't  do  to.  Jf  I  do,  he 
won't  go  any." 

But  in  a  minute  he  began  to  go  faster  of  his  own 
accord.  He  heard  somebody  ahead  calling.  It  was 
Gapper,  coming  to  see  what  the  matter  was  that  kept  us 
so  late.  Now  what  do  you  think  about  it  ? 

From  your  affectionate 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  My  boots  leak.  Shall  I  get  them  tapped,  or 
get  a  new  pair,  or  throw  them  away,  or  else  keep  the 

legs  to  make  new  boots  of? 

W.  H. 

Here  we  have  William  Henry  trying  his  hand  at  story- 
telling. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

Sometimes  Dorry  writes  stories  in  his  letters  for  his 
sister,  just  as  he  tells  them  to  her,  talking,  at  home. 
Now  I  '11  write  one  for  my  sister,  and  I  '11  call  it  by  a 
name.  I  '11  call  it 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  GREAT  STORM. 

Once  there  was  a  little  boy  named  Billy,  and  Gapper 
lent  him  his  donkey  to  go  ride.  That 's  me,  you  know. 
Next  day  Gapper  came  and  said,  "  You  boys  lost  my 
whip."  Now  I  remembered  having  the  whip  when  we 


THE   WILLIAM   HEJNK1    LETTERS.  <o 

crept  in  among  the  bushes,  —  for  we  got  sight  of  a  wood- 
chuck,  and  came  near  finding  his  hole.  So  when  school 
was  done  at  noon,  I  asked  leave  to  put  some  bread  and 
meat  in  my  pocket,  instead  of  eating  any  dinner,  and  go 
to  look  for  Gapper's  whip.  And  he  said  I  might.  'T  was 
two  miles  off.  But  I  found  it.  And  I  dug  for  a  good 
deal  of  saxifax-root.  And  picked  lots  of  boxberry- 
plums. 

And  I  never  noticed  how  the  sky  looked,  till  I  heard  a 
noise  something  like  thunder.  It  was  very  much  like 
thunder.  Almost  just  like  it.  I  thought  it  was  thunder. 
Only  it  sounded  a  great  ways  off.  I  was  walking  along 
slow,  snapping  my  whip  and  eating  my  dinner,  for  I 
thought  I  would  n't  hurry  for  thunder,  when  something 
hard  dropped  down  close  to  me.  Then  another  dropped, 
—  and  then  another.  And  they  kept  dropping.  I  picked 
one  up  and  found  they  were  hail-stones,  and  they  were 
bigger  than  bullets. 

It  kept  growing  dark,  and  the  hailstones  came  thicker, 
and  hit  me  in  the  face.  Then  they  began  to  pour  right 
down,  and  I  ran.  They  beat  upon  me  just  like  a  driving 
storm  all  of  sharp  stones.  The  horses  and  cows  cut 
across  the  fields  like  mad.  The  horses  flung  up  their 
heads.  I  was  almost  to  that  old  hquse  and  ran  for  that, 
and  kicked  the  door  through  to  get  in,  for  I  thought  I 
should  be  killed  with  the  hail.  The  shingles  off  the  roof 
were  flying  about ;  and  when  I  got  inside,  't  was  awful. 
I  thought  to  be  sure  the  roof  would  be  beat  in.  Such  a 
noise  !  It  sounded  just  exactly  as  if  a  hundred  cartloads 
of  stones  were  being  tipped  up  on  to  the  roof.  And  then 
the  window-glass  !  It  was  worse  than  being  out  doors,  for 
4 


74  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

the  window-glass  was  flying  crisscross  about  the  room, 
like  fury,  all  mixed  up  with  the  hail.  I  crouched  down 
all  in  a  bunch  and  put  my  arms  over  my  head,  and  so 
tried  to  save  myself.  But  then  I  spied  a  closet  door  a 
crack  open,  and  I  jumped  in  there.  And  there  I  sat  all 
bent  over  with  my  hands  up  to  my  ears,  and  thought,  O, 
what  would  become  of  me  if  the  old  house  should  go  ? 
And  now  the  strangest  part  is  coming.  You  see  't  \va>  a, 
pretty  deep  closet  —  •  School-hell !  I  did  n't  think  't  was 
half  time  for  that  to  ding.  I  '11  tell  the  rest  next  time. 
Should  you  care  if  I  brought  home  Dorry  to  make  a 
visit  ?  He  wants  to  bad.  'T  would  be  jolly  if  Bubby 
Short  went  too. 

From  your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

Mr  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

Everybody  's  been  setting  glass.  Counting  the  house 
and  the  schoolhouse,  and  the  panes  set  over  the  barn 
door,  and  four  squares  in  the  hen-house,  we  had  to  set 
four  hundred  and  twenty-three  squares.  The  express- 
man ha-i  brou srht  loads  and  loads.  All  the  great  boys 
helped  set.  We  slept  one  night  with  bedquilts  and  rugs 
hung  up  to  the  windows.  The  master  tried  to  shut  his 
blind  in  the  storm,  but  the  hail  drove  him  in,  and  he 
could  n't  even  shut  down  his  window  again.  A  rich  man 
has  given  to  the  Two  Betseys  better  windows  than  they 
had  before.  Now  I  will  tell  about  my  being  in  that 
closet. 

When  it  began  to  grow  stiller,  I  took  my  hands  down 
from  my  ears,  and  one  hand  when  it  came  down  touched 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS.  75 

something  soft.  Quite  soft  and  warm.  I  jumped  off 
from  it  in  a  hurry.  Then  I  heard  a  kind  of  bleating 
noise,  and  a  little  faint  "  ba'a  ba'a."  But  now  comes  the 
very  strangest  part.  Farther  back  in  the  closet  I  heard 
somebody  move,  somebody  step.  I  was  scared,  and  gave 
the  door  a  push,  to  let  the  light  in.  Now  who  do  you 
think  was  there  ?  Aunt  Phebe  must  stop  reading  and 
let  you  guess.  But  maybe  you  're  reading  yourself. 
Then  stop  and  guess.  'T  was  n't  a  ghost.  'T  was  n't 
a  man.  'T  was  n't  a  woman.  'T  was  Tom  Gush  !  and 
Rosy's  lamb ! 

Says  he,  "  William  Henry  ! "  Says  I,  "  Tom  !  " 
Then  we  walked  out  into  the  room,  and  O,  what  a  sight ! 
Says  I,  "  I  thought  't  was  going  to  be  the  end  of  the  old 
house." 

Says  Tom,  "  I  thought 't  was  going  to  be  the  end  of 
the  world." 

In  the  corners  the  hailstones  were  heaped  up  in  great 
banks.  You  might  have  shovelled  up  barrels  full.  Most 
of  them  were  the  size  of  bird's  eggs.  But  some  were 
bigger.  Then  we  looked  out  doors.  The  ground  was 
all  white,  and  drifts  in  every  cornering  place,  and  the 
leaves  stripped  off  the  trees.  Then  we  looked  at  one 
another,  and  he  was  just  as  pale  as  anything.  He  leaned 
against  the  wall,  and  I  guessed  he  was  crying.  To  see 
such  a  great  boy  crying  seemed  most  as  bad  as  the  hail- 
storm. Maybe  he  did  n't  cry.  When  he  turned  his 
head  round  again,  says  he :  "  Billy,  I  'm  sick,  and  what 
shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Go  home,"  says  I. 

"  No,"  says  he,  "  I  won't  go  home.     And  if  you  let 


76  THE   WILLIAM   HEXRY   LETTERS. 

'em  know,  I  '11  —  "  And  then  he  picked  up  Gapper's 
whip,  —  "  I  '11  flog  you." 

"  Flog  away,"  says  I  ;  "  maybe  I  shall,  and  maybe  I 
sha'  n't." 

He  dropped  the  whip  down,  and  says  he,  "  Billy,  I 
sha'  n't  ever  touch  you.  But  they  must  n't  know  till  I  'm 
gone  to  sea." 

I  asked  him  when  he  was  going.  And  he  told  me  all 
about  it. 

When  he  was  sent  away  from  school,  he  went  into 
town  and  inquired  about  the  wharves  for  a  chance  to  go, 
and  got  one,  and  came  back  to  get  some  things  he  left 
hid  in  the  old  house,  and  to  wait  till  't  was  time  to  go. 
He  sold  his  watch,  and  bought  a  great  bag  full  of  hard 
bread  and  cheese  and  cakes. 

He  was  mad  at  Gapper  for  setting  a  man  to  watch, 
and  so  he  took  Rosy's  lamb.  He  was  going  to  kill  it. 
And  then  skin  it.  But  he  could  n't  do  it.  It  licked  his 
hand,  and  looked  up  so  sorryful,  he  could  n't  do  it.  And 
when  he  cut  his  foot  —  he  cut  it  chopping  something. 
That 's  why  he  stayed  there  so  long.  And  he  was  the 
ghost  that  whistled.  He  knew  the  fellows  would  n't 
go  in  to  see  what  it  was  that  whistled.  And  he  ate 
up  most  all  his  things,  and  tied  a  string  to  the  lamb, 
and  let  it  out  nights  to  eat  grass,  and  then  pulled  it  in 
again." 

I  would  n't  have  stayed  there  so  for  anything.  He 
went  into  town  three  times,  nights,  to  get  victuals  to  eat. 
I  don't  see  what  he  wants  to  be  such  a  kind  of  a  boy  for. 
He  says  he  means  to  go  to  sea,  and  if  ever  he  's  good 
he 's  going  home.  I  told  him  about  his  father  and 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  77 

mother,  and  he  walked  while  I  was  talking,  and  kept  his 
back  towards  me.  I  asked  him  what  ailed  him,  and  he 
said  'twas  partly  cutting  him,  and  partly  sleeping  cold 
nights,  and  partly  the  crackers  and  cheese.  I  gave  him 
the  rest  of  my  meat,  and  he  was  glad  enough. 

He  said  he  was  ashamed  to  go  home. 

Now  I  have  got  to  the  end  of  another  sheet  of  paper. 
I  wish  I  had  n't  begun  to  tell  my  sister  this  story.  It 
takes  so  long.  And  I  want  every  minute  of  the  time  to 
play  in.  For  't  is  getting  a  little  cooler,  and  a  fellow  can 
stand  it  to  run  some.  The  master  says  it 's  good  weather 
for  studying.  Dorry  says  he  never  saw  any  weather  yet 
good  enough  for  studying.  I  shall  write  a  very  short 
letter  next  time,  to  tell  the  rest  of  it 

From  your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  I  forgot  to  put  this  letter  in  the  office.  I  guess 
I  will  not  write  any  more  letters  till  I  go  home.  I  was 
going  to  tell  more,  but  I  can  do  it  better  talking.  I  went 
to  see  Tom  Gush  the  next  day,  and  he  had  gone.  Rosy's 
got  her  lamb  back  again.  But  her  flower-garden  was 
killed  by  the  hail.  Not  one  leaf  left.  She  found  her 
lamb  on  the  doorstep,  waiting  to  get  in. 

We  have  next  a  letter  from  Aunt  Phebe,  a  dear,  good- 
bearted  woman,  who  took  almost  a  mother's  interest  in 
William  Henry.  Indeed,  I  have  Leard  her  remark,  that  she 
hardly  knew  any  difference  between  her  feelings  for  him  and 
for  her  own  children. 

Some  of  her  letters  will  be  found  to  contain  good  advice, 
given  in  a  very  amusing  way. 


78  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

Letter  from  Aunt  Phebe. 
DEAR  BILLY,  — 

You  rogue,  you  !  I  meant  to  have  written  before. 
You  've  frightened  us  all  to  pieces  with  your  ghost  that 
was  n't  a  ghost,  and  your  whipping  that  was  n't  a  whip- 
ping, and  your  measles  that  you  did  n't  have.  Grand- 
mother may  talk,  but  she's  losing  her  memory.  You 
were  red  as  a  beet  with  'em.  As  if  I  did  n't  carry  you 
about  all  night  and  go  to  sleep  walking  ! 

Grandmother  says,  "  Yes,  indeed  !  bring  Dorry,  and  let 
him  stay  a  week  if  he  wants  to."  Bless  her  soul !  She  '11 
always  keep  her  welcome  warm,  so  never  mind  her  mem- 
ory. And  Bubby  Short,  too.  Pray  bring  Bubby  Short. 
I  want  to  see  his  black  eyes  shiue.  Don't  Benjie  want 
to  come  ?  I  've  got  beds  enough,  and  girls  enough  to 
work,  and  a  great  batch  of  poor  mince-pies  that  I  want 
eaten  up.  Don't  see  how  I  came  to  make  such  a  miss  iii 
my  pies  this  baking.  Your  uncle  J.  thinks  I  skiuched  on 
plums.  There  never  was  such  a  man  for  plums.  I  do 
believe  if  they  were  put  into  his  biscuits  he  'd  think  he  'd 
got  no  more  than  his  rights. 

Your  uncle  J.  says :  "  Tell  the  boys  to  come  on.  I  Ve 
got  apples  to  gather,  and  husking  to  do."  They  'd  better 
bring  some  old  clothes  to  wear.  This  is  such  a  tearing 
place.  I  've  put  my  Tommy  into  jacket  and  trousers. 
He  used  to  hitch  his  clothes  upon  every  rail.  Such  a 
climber !  I  don't  know  what  that  boy  '11  be  when  he 
grows  up. 

I  send  you  a  good  warm  comforter,  knit  in  stripes  ;  and 
all  the  family  are  knit  into  it,  especially  Tommy.  The 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  79 

pink  stripes  are  his  good-boy  days,  and  the  black  ones  are 
his  naughty  actions.  I  showed  him  where  I  knit  'em  in. 
That  clouded  gray  and  black  stripe  is  for  my  two  great 
girls  quarrelling  together  about  whose  work  't  was  to  do 
some  little  trifle.  I  told  'em  they  should  be  knit  in,  big  as 
they  are,  if  they  could  n't  behave  and  be  accommodating. 
That  bright  red  stripe  is  for  Hannah  Jane's  school  report, 
all  perfect.  That  blue  stripe  is  for  your  sister  Georgian- 
na  when  she  made  a  sheet.  It  matches  her  eyes  as  near 
as  I  could  get  the  yarn.  My  blue  dye  is  weak  this  fall. 
Indigo  is  high.  Your  uncle  J.  says  it 's  on  account  of  the 
Rebs  feeling  so  blue.  That  gray  stripe,  dotted  with  yel- 
low, means  a  funny  crying  spell  Tommy  had  at  table.  1 
came  home,  and  there  he  sat  in  his  high  chair,  with  his 
two  hands  on  the  arms  of  it,  his  mouth  wide  open,  eyes 
shut,  and  the  tears  streaming  down,  making  the  dolefullest 
noise,  — "  O-oh,  a-ah ;  o-oh,  a-ah."  Lucy  Maria  said 
he  'd  been  going  on  in  that  strain  almost  half  an  hour, 
because  we  did  n't  have  mince-meat  for  supper.  That 
green  stripe  is  for  the  day  we  all  took  the  hay-cart  and 
went  to  ride  in  the  woods.  The  orange-colored  one  is 
for  the  box  of  oranges  your  uncle  J.  fetched  home.  "A 
waste  of  mr>"--  .  says  I.  "  Please  the  children,"  says  he  ; 
"  and  the  peel  will  save  spice."  Makes  me  laugh  when 
your  uncle  J.  sets  out  to  save.  My  girls  and  Tommy 
have  got  the  very  best  of  fathers,  only  they  don't  realize  it. 
But  young  folks  can't  realize.  The  pale  rose- colored  stripe 
is  for  the  travelling  doctor's  curing  your  grandmother's 
rheumatics,  and  promising  she  never  should  have  another 
touch  of  'em  if  she  was  careful.  The  dark  red  stripe  is 
for  the  red  cow's  getting  choked  to  death  with  a  turnip. 


80  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

She  was  a  prime  butter  cow.  Any  man  but  your  uncle 
J.  would  look  sober  for  a  month  about  it.  But  he  says, 
"  O,  there  's  butter  enough  in  the  world,  Phebe.  And 
the  calf  will  soon  be  a  cow  on  its  own  hook."  That 's 
your  uncle  J. 

The  plain  dark  purple  stripe  is  for  my  Matilda's  speak- 
ing disrespectfully  to  grandmother.  She  was  sorry 
enough  afterwards,  but  I  told  her  it  should  go  in.  That 
bright  yellow  stripe  is  for  the  day  your  father  went  to 
market  and  got  such  a  great  price  for  his  colt.  The 
bright  fringe,  mixed  colors,  is  for  us  all  in  both  houses, 
when  we  got  news  of  your  coming  home,  and  felt  so  glad. 
There 's  a  stitch  dropped  in  one  place.  That  may  go  for  a 
tear-drop,  —  a  tear  of  mine,  dear,  if  you  please.  Do  you 
think  we  grown-up  women,  we  jolly,  busy  women,  never 
shed  tears  ?  0,  but  we  do  sometimes,  in  an  out-of-the-way 
corner,  or  when  the  children  are  all  gone  to  school,  or 
everybody  is  in  bed.  Bitterer  tears  they  are,  Billy,  than 
boys'  tears.  One  more  stripe,  that  plain  white  one  in 
the  centre,  is  for  the  little  Tommy  that  died.  I  could  n't 
bear  to  leave  him  out,  Billy.  He  had  such  little  loving 
ways.  You  don't  remember  him. 

There 's  your  uncle  J.'s  whistle.  He  always  whistles 
when  he  gets  to  the  bars,  to  let  me  know  it 's  time  to 
begin  to  take  up  dinner. 

From  your  loving 

AUNT  PHEBE. 

I  will  insert  here  two  of  Dorry  Baker's  letters  to  his  sister. 
When  they  were  written  Dorry  and  Bubby  Short  were  mak- 
ing William  Henry  a  visit. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  81 

Dorry  to  his  Sister. 
DEAR  Sis,  — 

Who  's  been  giving  you  an  inch,  that  you  take  so  many 
"  1's  "  ?  Or  is  father  putting  an  "  L  "  to  his  house,  or 
some  great  "  LL.  D."  been  dining  there,  or  what  is  the 
matter,  that  about  every  "  1 "  in  your  letter  comes  double  ? 
I  would  n't  spell  "  painful "  with  two  "  1's  "  if  the  pain 
was  ever  so  bad.  But  I  know.  You  are  thinking  about 
Billy  and  the  good  times  we  are  having.  Aunt  Phebe 
says  you  might  have  come  too,  just  as  well  as  not ;  for  her 
family  is  so  big,  three  or  four  more  don't  make  a  mite  of 
difference. 

We  got  here  last  night.  Billy's  grandmother  's  a  brick. 
She  took  Billy  right  in  her  arms,  and  I  do  believe  she 
cried  for  being  glad,  behind  her  spectacles.  His  sister  is 
full  as  pretty  as  you.  Billy  brought  her  a  round  comb. 
Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy  's  as  fat  as  butter.  He  sat 
and  sucked  his  thumb  and  stared,  till  Billy  held  out  a 
whistle  to  him,  and  then  be  walked  up  and  took  it,  as 
sober  as  a  judge. 

"  And  I  've  brought  you  something,  Grandmother,"  says 
Billy. 

He  went  out  and  brought  in  a  bandbox  tied  up.  I 
wondered,  coming  in  the  cars,  what  he  had  got  tied  up  in 
that  bandbox.  He  out  with  his  jackknife,  and  cut  the 
string-,  and  took  out  —  have  you  guessed  yet  ?  Of  course 
you  have  n't,  —  took  out  a  new  cap  like  grandma's.  He 
stuck  his  fist  in  it,  and  turned  it  round  and  round,  to  let 
her  see  it. 

"  Now  sit  down,"  says  he,  "  and  we  '11  try  it  on.'* 

4*  P 


82 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


She  would  n't,  but  he  made  her. 

"  Come  here,  Dorry,"  says  he,  "  and  see  which  is  the 
front  side  of  this." 

When  her  old  cap  was  pulled  off,  there  was  her  gray 
hair  all  soft  and  crinkly.  He  got  the  cap  part  way  on. 

"  You  tip  it  down  too  much,''  says  I. 

"  We  '11  turn  it  round,"  says  he. 

"Tis  upside  down,"  said  Billy's  father. 

"  Now  't  is  one-sided,"  says  Uncle  J.,  "  like  the  colt's 
blinders." 

"  'T  was  never  meant  for  my  head,"  says  Grand- 
mother. 

"  Send  for  Phebe,"  says  Uncle  J. 

' 


' 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  83 

But  "  Phebe  "  was  coming.  There  was  a  great  chat- 
tering outside,  and  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  Aunt 
Phebe,  laughing,  and  her  three  great  girls  laughing  too, 
with  their  red  cheeks,  and  their  great  braids  of  hair  tied 
up  in  red  bow-knots  of  ribbon.  And  they  all  went  to  kiss- 
ing Billy. 

And  then  says  Aunt  Phebe,  "  What  in  the  world  are 
you  doing  to  your  grandmother  ?  A  regular  milliner's 
cap,  if  I  breathe  !  Well  done,  Grandmother  !  Here,  let 
me  give  it  a  twist.  It's  hind  side  before.  What  do 
boys  know  ?  or  men  either  ?  What  are  all  these  kinds 
of  strings  for  ?  " 

"  The  great  ones  to  hang  down,  and  the  little  ones  to 
tie  up,"  says  Billy. 

The  girls  stood  by  .to  pick  the  bows  apart,  and  fuzz  up 
the  ruffles  where  they  were  smashed  in ;  and  Billy's 
father  and  Uncle  Jacob,  they  sat  and  laughed. 

Grandmother  could  n't  help  herself,  but  she  kept  say- 
ing, "  Now,  Phebe  !  now,  girls  !  now,  Billy  !  " 

"  And  now,  grandmother! "  says  Aunt  Phebe.  "  There ! 
fold  your  hands  together.  Don't  lean  back  hard,  't  will 
jam  easy.  Now  see,  girls  !  Is  n't  she  a  beauty  ?  "  And, 
Maggie,  I  do  believe  she 's  the  prettiest  grandmother 
there  is  going.  Her  face  is  just  as  round  and  smiling  ! 

"  Now  sit  still,  Grandmother,"  said  Aunt  Phebe.  And 
she  winked  to  the  girls,  and  they  whisked  two  tables  up 
together,  spread  on  the  cloth,  set  on  the  dishes  ;  then  out 
into  the  entry,  and  brought  in  great  loaves  of  plum-cake, 
and  pies  and  doughnuts,  and  set  out  the  table,  —  all  done 
while  you  'd  be  tying  your  shoe.  Then  they  set  a  row 
of  lights  along  the  middle,  and  we  all  sat  round,  —  Grand- 


84  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

mother  at  the  head,  and  Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy  in 
his  high  chair ;  and  I  '11  tell  you  what,  if  these  are  poor 
mince-pies,  I  hope  I  shall  never  see  any  good  ones. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  have  some  fried  eggs  ?  "  said  Uncle 
Jacob. 

"Now  did  anybody  ever  hear  the  like?"  said  Aunt 
Phebe.  "  Fried  eggs  !  when  they  're  shedding  their 
feathers,  and  it  takes  seventy-six  fowls  to  lay  a  dozen, 
and  every  egg  is  worth  its  weight  in  currency  !  Better 
ask  why  we  don't  have  cranberry  sauce ! " 

"  There  !  "  says  Uncle  J.  "  I  declare,  if  I  did  n't  for- 
get that  errand,  after  all ! " 

"  When  I  told  you  to  keep  saying  over  '  Cranberries, 
cranberries,'  all  the  way  going  along ! "  says  Aunt 
Phebe. 

"  They  would  'a'  set  my  teeth  on  edge  before  I  got  to 
Ne'miah's  corner,"  said  Uncle  J.  "  The  very  thoughts 
of  'em  is  enough.  Lucy  Maria,  please  to  pass  that 
frosted  cake.  I  declare,  I  'm  sorry  I  forgot  that 
errand." 

For  all  we  were  so  hungry,  there  was  a  great  deal 
left,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  it  going  into  Billy's  buttery. 
Billy  says  it's  just  like  his  aunt  Phebe  to  come  to  sup- 
per, and  make  that  an  excuse  to  bring  enough  to  last  a 
Mreek,  to  save  Grandmother  steps. 

I  do  like  to  stay  where  folks  are  jolly.     They  keep  me 
a-laughing  ;  and  as  for  Bubby  Short,  his  little  black  eyes 
have  settled  themselves  into  a  twinkle,  and  there  they 
stay.     I  never  had  such  a  good  time  in  my  life. 
From  your  same  old  brother, 

DORRY. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  85 

P.  S.  We  have  got  good  times  enough  planned  out 
to  last  a  month.  Uncle  J.  says  we  may  have  his  old 
horse,  and  Young  Gray,  and  Dobbin,  and  the  cow  too,  if 
we  want,  to  ride  horseback  on,  or  tackle  up  into  anything 
we  can  find,  from  a  hay-cart  to  a  wheelbarrow.  I  shall 
want  to  write,  but  sha'  n't.  There  '11  be  no  time.  When 
I  get  home,  I  '11  talk  a  week. 

Love  to  all  inquiring  friends. 

Maggie  could  have  formed  but  little  idea  of  the  nature  of 
the  offer  mentioned  in  Dorry's  postscript,  because  she  had 
never,  at  that  time,  stood  on  the  spot  and  seen  with  her  own 
eyes  all  the  "  wheel-ed  things "  that  were  to  be  seen  in 
Uncle  Jacob's  back-yard. 

How  gladly  would  I,  if  space  permitted,  go  into  a  minute 
description  of  that  roomy  enclosure,  with  its  farming  imple- 
ments, garden  tools,  cattle,  pump,  fowls,  watering-trough, 
grindstone,  woodpile,  haystack,  etc.,  and  carryalls,  carts, 
wagons,  wheelbarrows,  roller-carts,  and  tip-carts,  some  in 
good  repair,  others  very  far  out  of  it !  "  Entertainment  for 
man  and  beast"  might  truly  have  been  written  over  the 
entrance ! 

Mother  Delight  (an  old  nurse-woman)  once  remarked  of 
Uncle  Jacob,  that  he  was  a  very  buying  man.  This  was  a 
true  remark,  and  yet  he  never  bought  without  a  reason. 
For  instance,  if  Quorm  (a  Corry  Pond  Indian)  brought  bushel- 
baskets  along  to  sell,  Uncle  Jacob  took  one,  not  because 
he  had  not  bushel-baskets  enough,  but  to  encourage  Quorm. 
And  if  Old  Pete  Brale  wanted  to  let  Uncle  Jacob  have  an 
infirm,  rickety  wagon,  and  take  his  pay  in  potatoes,  Uncle 
Jacob  traded,  that  Pete  Brale  might  be  kept  from  starvation. 
And  so  of  other  things. 

It  may  be  imagined,  therefore,  that  as  time  went  on  all 
manner  of  vehicles  were  there  {fathered  together.  Some  of 


86  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

these  were  in  good  running  order,  while  others  had  been 
bought  partly  with  a  view  to  their  being  repaired  and  sold  at 
a  profit.  The  expression  on  Aunt  Phebe's  face  when  Uncle 
Jacob  brought  home  an  addition  to  his  interesting  collection 
was  very  striking.  I  remember  particularly  observing  this  at 
the  coming  into  harbor  of  a  rattling,  shackly,  green-bottomed 
carryall,  which  had  a  door  at  the  back,  and  seats  running 
lengthwise.  It  formerly  belonged  to  some  person  who,  having 
then  a  large  family  of  small  children  to  get  to  meeting,  con- 
trived a  conveyance  which  would  take  in  and  discharge  again 
the  greatest  number  with  the  least  trouble. 

In  this  odd  vehicle,  which  had  been  run  under  an  over- 
hanging apple-tree,  I  often  sat  through  the  summer  after- 
noon, now  reading  my  book,  now  watching  the  animal  life 
about  me,  gaining  useful  knowledge  from  both.  Some- 
times, when  feeling  like  a  boy  again,  —  as  I  often  did  and  do 
feel,  —  I  would  amuse  myself  with  playing  go  to  ride  in  a  comi- 
cal old  chaise.  It  was  set  high,  and  pitched  forward,  the  lining 
was  ragged,  the  back  "light"  gone,  the  stuffing  running  out 
of  the  cushions ;  yet  there  I  liked  to  sit,  and  "  ride,"  and  joggle 
up  and  down,  as  in  the  happy  days  of  boyhood.  But  not,  as 
in  those  happy  days,  "  hard  as  I  could,"  for  reasons  easy  to 
guess. 

I  trust  no  one  will  imagine  that  spacious  yard  to  have  been 
merely  a  sort  of  safe  anchorage,  where  all  manner  of  disabled 
craft  might  run  in  for  shelter !  Lest  any  words  of  mine  should 
imply  this,  or  seem  to  cast  blame  on  Uncle  Jacob,  let  me 
hasten  to  say  that  he  really  required  a  variety  of "  wheel-ed 
things  "  to  carry  on  his  business. 

Nt  ither  of  the  Mr.  Carvers  got  their  living  wholly,  or  even 
chiefly  by  farming.  They  drew  wood  from  lots  owned  by 
themse'ves,  or  by  ofhers,  and  used  their  teams  in  any  way, 
according  as  employment  was  offered  them.  Thus  heavy 
carts  were  wanted  for  heavy  work,  and  light  carts  for  light 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  87 

work,  besides  carryalls  for  dry  and  for  rainy  weather,  and 
riding  wagons,  because  they  were  handy. 

For  all  the  Summer  Sweeting  folks  were  hard  workers, 
they  knew  how  to  get  up  a  good  time,  and  enjoyed  it  too,  as 
we  shall  see  by  the  account  of  one  which  Dorry  gives  in  the 
following  letter :  — 

Dorry  to  his  Sister. 
DEAR  Sis, — 

O,  we  've  hurrahed  and  hurrahed  and  hurrahed  our- 
selves hoarse  !  Such  a  bully  time !  You  'd  better  be- 
lieve the  old  horses  went  some  !  And  that  hay-cart  went 
rattle  and  bump,  rattle  and  thump,  —  seemed  as  if  we 
should  jolt  to  pieces  !  But  I  've  counted  myself  all  over, 
and  believe  I  'm  all  here !  Bubby  Short's  throat  is  so 
sore  that  all  he  can  do  is  to  lie  flat  on  the  floor  and  wink 
his  eyes.  You* see  we  cheered  at  every  house,  and  they 
came  running  to  their  windows,  and  some  cheered  back 
again,  and  some  waved  and  some  laughed,  and  all  of 
them  stared.  But  part  of  the  way  was  through  the 
woods. 

This  morning  Billy  and  Bubby  Short  and  I  went  over 
to  Aunt  Phebe's  of  an  errand,  to  borrow  a  cup  of  dough. 
I  wish  mother  could  see  how  her  stove  shines !  And 
while  we  were  sitting  down  there,  having  some  fun  with 
Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy,  Uncle  Jacob  came  in  and 
said,  '*  Mother,  let 's  go  somewhere." 

She  said,  "  Thank  you  !  thank  you  !  we  shall  be  very 
happy  to  accept  your  invitation.  Girls,  your  father  has 
given  us  an  invitation  !  Boys,  he  means  you  too!" 

"  But  you  can't  go,  —  can  you  ?  "  Uncle  Jacob  cried 
out,  and  made  believe  he  did  n't  know  what  to  make  of 


88  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

it.  O, he  's  such  a  droll  man  !  "  I  thought  you  couldn't 
leave  the  ironing,"  says  he. 

"  O  yes,  we  can !  "  Hannah  Jane  said ;  and  "  0  yes, 
we  can  ! "  they  all  cried  out. 

Aunt  Phebe  said  it  would  be  entirely  convenient, 
and  told  her  girls  to  shake  out  the  sprinkled  clothes  to 
dry. 

"  O,  now,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  "  who  'd  have  thought 
of  your  saying  '  yes.'  I  expected  you  could  n't  leave." 

"Then  they  kept  on  talking  and  laughing.  O,  they 
are  all  so  funny  here  !  Uncle  Jacob  tried  to  get  off 
without  going ;  but  at  last  he  said,  "  Well,  boys,  we 
must  catch  Old  Major." 

"  That 's  the  old  gray  horse,  you  know.  And  we  were 
long  enough  about  it.  For,  just  as  we  got  him  into  a 
corner,  he  'd  up  heels,  and  away  he  'd  go.  And  once 
he  slapped  his  tail  right  in  my  face.  But  after  a  while 
we  got  him  into  the  barn. 

Then  pretty  soo.«  Uncle  Jacob  put  on  a  long  face,  and 
looked  very  sober,  and  put  his  head  in  at  the  back  kitch- 
en door,  and  said  he  guessed  we  should  have  to  give 
up  going,  after  all,  for  the  mate  to  Old  Major  had  got  to 
be  shod,  and  the  blacksmith  had  gone  away. 

"  Harness  in  the  colt,  then,"  Aunt  Phebe  said.  "  No 
matter  about  their  matching,  if  we  only  get  there  !  " 

That  colt  is  about  twenty  years  old.  He  's  black,  and 
short,  and  takes  little  stubby  steps  ;  and  he  's  got  a  shaggy 
m:me,  that  poes  flop,  flop,  flop  every  step  he  takes.  But 
Old  Major  i-;  bony,  and  has  a  long  neck,  like  the  nose  of 
a  tunnel.  Such  a  <pan  as  they  made  !  What  would  my 
mother  say  to  see  that  span  ! 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  89 

They  were  harnessed  in  to  the  hay-cart.  A  hay-cart 
is  a  long  cart  that  has  stakes  stuck  in  all  round  it.  We 
put  boards  across  for  benches.  Aunt  Phebe  brought  out 
a  whole  armful  of  quite  small  flags,  that  they  had  Inde- 
pendent Day,  and  we  tied  one  to  the  end  of  every 
stake. 

Such  a  jolly  time  as  we  did  have  getting  aboard  !  First 
all  the  baskets  and  pails  full  of  cake  and  pies  were  stowed 
away  under  the  benches,  and  jugs  of  water,  and  bottles 
of  milk,  and  a  hatchet,  and  some  boiled  eggs,  and  apples 
and  pears.  Then  uncle  called  out,  "  Come !  where  is 
everybody  ?  Tumble  in  !  tumble  in  !  Where  's  little 
Tommy  ?  " 

Then  we  began  to  look  about  and  to  call  "Tommy!" 
"  Tommy  !  "  "  Tommy  !  "  At  last  Bubby  Short  said, 
"  There  he  is,  up  there  !  "  We  all  looked  up,  and  saw 
Tommy's  face  part  way  through  a  broken  square  of  glass 
—  I  mean  where  the  gla^s  was  broken  out.  He  said  he 
could  n't  "  turn  down,  betause  the  roosted  was  on  his 
feets."  You  see,  he  'd  got  his  fret  tangled  up  in  Lucy 
Maria's  worsteds. 

"  O  dear  !  "  Lucy  Maria  paid  ;  "  all  that  shaded  pink  ! " 

When  they  brought  him  down,  Uncle  Jacob  looked 
very  sober,  and  said,  "  Why,  Tommy  !  Did  you  get  into 
all  that  shaded  pink  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  get  in  all  of  it,"  said  Tommy.  Then  he  told 
us  he  was  taking  down  the  "  gimmerlut  to  blower  a  hole 
with."  Next  he  began  to  cry  for  his  new  hat ;  and  when 
he  got  his  new  hat,  he  began  to  cry  for  a  posy  to  be 
stuck  in  it.  That  little  fellow  never  will  go  anyxvhere 
without  a  flower  stuck  in  his  hat.  Aunt  Phebe  says  his 


90  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

grandmother  began  that  notion  when  her  damask  rose- 
bush was  in  bloom. 

After  we  were  all  aboard,  Uncle  Jacob  brought  out  the 
teakettle,  and  slung  it  on  behind  with  a  rope.  He  said 
maybe  mother  would  want  a  cup  of  tea.  Then  they 
laughed  at  him,  for  he  is  the  tea-drinker  himself.  Next 
he  brought  out  a  long  pan. 

"  Now  that 's  my  cookie-pan !  "  Aunt  Phebe  said. 
"  You  don't  cook  clams  in  my  cookie-pan  ! " 

He  made  believe  he  was  terribly  afraid  of  Aunt  Phebe, 
and  trotted  back  with  it  just  like  a  little  boy,  and  then 
came  bringing  out  an  old  sheet-iron  fireboard. 

"  Is  this  anybody  's  cookie-pan  ?  ''  said  he,  then  stowed 
it  away  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  Bubby  Short  wanted 
to  know  what  that  was  for. 

"  That 's  for  the  clams,"  Uncle  Jacob  said. 

But  we  could  n't  tell  whether  he  meant  so.  We  never 
can  tell  whether  Uncle  Jacob  is  funning  or  not.  I  have  n't 
told  you  yet  where  we  were  bound.  We  were  bound  to 
the  shore.  That 's  about  six  miles  off.  The  last  thing 
that  Uncle  Jacob  brought  out  was  a  stick  that  had  strips 
of  paper  tied  to  the  end  of  it. 

"  That 's  my  flyflapper !  "  Aunt  Phebe  said.  "  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  my  flyflapper  ?  " 

He  said  that  was  to  brush  the  snarls  off  little  Tommy's 
face.  Tommy  is  a  tip-top  little  chap  ;  but  he  's  apt  to 
make  a  fuss.  Sometimes  he  teased  to  drive,  and  then 
he  teased  for  a  drink,  and  then  for  a  sugar-cracker,  and 
then  to  sit  with  Matilda,  and  then  with  Hannah  Jane. 
And,  every  time  he  fretted,  Uncle  Jacob  would  take  out 
the  flyflapper,  and  play  brush  the  snarls  off  his  face,  and 


THE   WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  91 

say,  "There  they  go!  Pick  'em  up!  pick  'em  up!'' 
And  that  would  set  Tommy  a-laughing.  Tommy  tum- 
bled out  once,  the  back  end  of  the  cart.  Billy  was  driv- 
ing, and  he  whipped  up  quick,  and  they  started  ahead, 
and  sent  Tommy  out  the  back  end,  all  in  a  heap.  But 
first  he  stood  on  his  head,  for  't  was  quite  a  sandy  place. 
I  drove  part  of  the  way,  and  so  did  Bubby  Short.  We 
did  n't  hurrah  any  going.  Some  men  that  we  met  would 
laugh  and  call  out,  "  What  '11  you  take  for  your  span  ?  " 
And  sometimes  boys  would  turn  round,  and  laugh,  and 
holler  out,  "  How  are  you,  tea-kettle  ?  "  I  think  a  hay- 
cart  is  the  best  thing  to  ride  in  that  ever  was.  Just  as 
we  got  through  the  woods,  we  looked  round  and  saw 
Billy's  father  coming,  bringing  Billy's  grandmother  in  a 
horse  and  chaise.  Then  we  all  clapped.  For  they  said 
they  guessed  they  could  n't  come. 

When  we  got  to  the  shore  the  horses  had  to  be  hitched 
to  the  cart,  for  there  was  n't  a  tree  there,  nor  so  much  as 
a  stump.  Uncle  Jacob  called  to  us  to  come  help  him  dig 
the  clams.  Billy  carried  the  clam-digger,  and  I  carried 
the  bucket.  Is  n't  it  funny  that  clams  live  in  the  mud  ? 
How  do  you  suppose  they  move  round  ?  Do  you  suppose 
they  know  anything  ?  Uncle  Jacob  struck  his  clam-digger 
in  everywhere  where  he  saw  holes  in  the  mud ;  and  as 
Vast  as  he  uncovered  the  clams  we  picked  them  up,  and 
soon  got  the  bucket  full. 

Then  he  told  us  to  run  like  lamplighters  along  the 
shore,  and  pick  up  sticks  and  bits  of  boards.  "  Bring 
them  where  you  see  a  smoke  rising,"  says  he. 

O,  such  loads  as  we  got,  and  split  up  the  big  pieces 
with  the  hatchet !  Uncle  Jacob  had  fixed  some  stones  in 


92  THE   WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

a  good  way,  and  put  his  iron  lireboard  on  top,  and  made 
a  fire  underneath.  Then  he  spread  his  clams  on  the 
fireboard  to  roast.  O,  I  tell  you,  sis,  you  never  tasted 
of  anything  so  good  in  your  life  as  clams  roasted  on  a 
fireboard ! 

And  he  put  some  stones  together  in  another  place,  and 
set  on  the  tea-kettle,  and  made  a  fire  under  it,  —  to  make 
a  cup  of  tea  for  mother,  he  said.  Tommy  kept  helping 
making  the  fire,  and  once  he  joggled  the  teakettle  over. 
Aunt  Phebe  and  the  girls  sat  on  the  rocks,  the  side  where 
the  wind  would  n't  blow  the  smoke  in  their  eyes.  But 
Billy's  grandmother  had  a  soft  seat  made  of  seaweed  and 
the  chaise  cushions,  and  shawls  all  over  her,  and  Billy's 
father  read  things  out  of  the  newspaper  to  her.  He  said 
they  two  were  the  invited  guests,  and  must  n't  work. 

It  took  the  girls  ever  so  long  to  cut  up  the  cakes  and 
pies,  and  butter  the  biscuits.  I  know  I  never  was  so 
hungry  before  !  The  clams  were  passed  round,  piping 
hot,  in  box  covers,  and  tin-pail  covers,  and  some  had  to 
have  shingles.  You  'd  better  believe  those  clams  tasted 
good  !  Then  all  the  other  things  were  passed  round.  O, 
I  don  't  believe  any  other  woman  can  make  things  as 
good  as  Aunt  Phebe's  !  Georgianna  had  a  frosted  plum- 
cake  baked  in  a  saucer  ;  and,  every  time  she  moved  her 
seat,  Uncle  Jacob  would  go  too,  and  sit  close  up  to  her, 
and  say  how  much  he  liked  Georgie,  she  was  the  best 
little  girl  that  ever  was,  — a  great  deal  better  than  Aunt 
Phebe's  girls.  Then  Georgianna  would  say,  "  O,  I 
know  you  !  you  want  my  frosted  cake  !  "  Then  Uncle 
Jacob  would  pucker  his  lips  together,  and  shut  up  his 
eyes,  and  shake  his  head  so  solemn  !  He  keeps  every- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  93 

body  a-laughing,  even  Billy's  grandmother.  He  was  just 
as  clever  to  her !  picked  out  the  best  mug  there  was  to 
put  her  tea  in,  —  Aunt  Phebe  don't  carry  her  good 
dishes,  they  get  broken  so,  —  and  shocked  out  the  clams 
for  her  in  a  saucer.  When  you  get  this  letter,  I  guess 
you  '11  get  a  good  long  one.  After  dinner  we  scattered 
about  the  shore.  'T  was  fun  to  see  the  crabs  and  f rys 
aud  things  the  tide  had  left  in  the  little  pools  of  water. 
And  I  found  lots  of  blanc-mange  moss.  We  boys  ran 
ever  so  far  along  shore,  and  went  in  swimming.  The 
water  was  n't  very  cold. 

When  it  was  time  to  go  home,  Uncle  Jacob  drummed 
loud  on  the  six-quart  pail,  and  waved  his  handkerchief. 
And  the  wind  took  it  out  of  his  hand,  and  blew  it  off  on 
the  water.  Billy  said,  "  Now  the  fishes  can  have  a  pocket- 
handkerchief."  And  that  made  little  Tommy  laugh. 
Tommy  had  been  in  wading  without  his  trousers  being 
rolled  up,  and  got  'em  sopping  wet.  Just  as  we  were 
going  to  leave,  a  sail-boat  went  past,  quite  near  the  shore, 
with  a  party  on  board.  We  gave  them  three  cheers,  and 
they  gave  us  three  cheers  and  a  tiger ;  then  they  waved, 
and  then  we  waved.  Uncle  Jacob  had  n't  any  pocket- 
handkerchief,  so  he  caught  Georgianna  up  in  his  arms, 
with  her  white  sunbonnet  on,  and  waved  her ;  then  the 
people  in  the  boat  clapped. 

O,  we  had  a  jolly  time  coming  home !  In  the  woods 
we  all  got  out  and  rested  the  horses,  and  I  came  pretty 
near  catching  a  little  striped  squirrel.  I  should  give  it 
to  you  if  I  had.  Did  you  ever  see  any  live  fences  ? 
Fences  that  branch  out,  and  have  leaves  grow  on  them  ? 
Now  I  suppose  you  don't  believe  that !  But  it 's  true, 


94  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

for  I  Ve  seen  them.  In  the  woods,  if  they  want  to  fence 
off  a  piece,  they  don't  go  to  work  and  build  a  fence,  but 
they  bend  down  young  trees,  or  the  branches  of  trees,  and 
fasten  them  to  the  next,  and  so  on  as  far  as  they  want  the 
fence  to  go.  And  these  trees  and  branches  keep  grow- 
ing, and  look  so  funny,  something  like  giants  with  their 
legs  and  arms  all  twisted  about.  And  every  spring  they 
leaf  out  the  same  as  other  trees,  and  that  makes  a  real 
live  fence.  My  squirrel  was  on  that  kind  of  fence.  I 
wish  it  was  my  squirrel.  He  had  a  striped  back.  I  got 
close  up  to  him.  that  is,  I  got  quite  close  up,  —  near 
enough  to  see  his  eyes.  What  things  they  are  to  run ! 

Coming  home  we  sang  songs,  and  laughed ;  and  every 
time  we  came  to  a  house  we  cheered  all  together,  and 
waved  our  flags.  Everybody  came  to  their  windows  to 
look,  for  there  is  n't  much  travelling  on  that  road.  O, 
I  'm  so  out  of  breath,  and  so  hoarse  !  But  I  'm  sorry 
we  Ve  got  home,  I  wish  it  had  been  ten  miles.  Now  I 
hear  them  laughing  and  clapping  over  at  Aunt  Phebe's. 
What  can  they  be  doing?  Now  Uncle  Jacob  is  calling 
us  to  come  over.  Bubby  Short 's  jumped  up.  He  says 
his  throat  feels  better  now.  I  wonder  what  Uncle  Jacob 
wants  of  us.  We  must  go  and  see.  Good  by,  sis.  This 
letter  is  from  your 

BROTHER  DORRY. 

I  remember  what  they  were  clapping  about.  It  happened 
that  I  came  out  from  the  city  that  day.  The  weather  was  so 
fine,  I  felt  as  if  I  must  take  one  more  look  at  the  country,  be- 
fore, winter  came  and  spoiled  every  bright  leaf  and  flower.  I 
think  the  flowers  and  leaves  seem  very  precious  in  the  fall, 
when  we  know  frost  is  waiting  to  kill  them. 


THE   WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS.  95 

It  was  quite  a  disappointment  to  find  the  people  all  gone, 
and  I  was  glad  enough  when  at  last  the  old  hay-cart  came  rat- 
tling down  the  lane.  Such  a  jolly  set  as  they  were !  I  jumped 
them  out  at  the  back  of  the  cart. 

That  little  Tommy  was  always  such  a  funny  chap.  Just 
like  his  father  for  all  the  world.  When  the  girls  took  their 
things  off,  he  got  himself  into  an  old  sack,  and  then  tied  on 
one  of  his  mother's  checked  aprons,  and  began  to  parade 
round.  When  Lucy  Maria  saw  him  she  took  him  up  stairs 
and  put  more  things  on  him,  and  dressed  him  up  for  Mother 
Goose.  I  don't  know  when  I  "ve  seen  anything  so  droll.  They 
put  skirts  on  him,  till  they  made  him  look  like  a  little  fat  old 
woman.  He  had  a  black  silk  handkerchief  pinned  over  his 
shoulders,  and  a  ruffle  round  his  neck,  and  an  old-fashioned, 
high-crowned  nightcap  on.  Then  spectacles.  They  put  a 
peaked  yiece  of  dough  on  the  end  of  his  nose,  to  make  it  look 
like  a  hooked  nose,  and  then  set  him  down  in  the  arm-chair. 
Pie  kept  sober  as  a  judge.  Bubby  Short  laughed  till  he 
tumbled  down  and  rolled  himself  across  the  floor.  Lucy  Maria 
sent  us  out  of  the  room  to  see  something  in  the  yard,  and 
when  we  came  back,  there  was  a  little  old  man  with  his  hat 
on,  and  a  cane,  sitting  opposite  Mother  Goose.  He  was  made 
of  a  stuffed-out  overcoat,  trousers  with  sticks  of  wood  m4hem, 
and  boots.  "  That  is  Father  Goose,"  Lucy  Maria  said.  Then 
Bubby  Short  had  to  tumble  down  again ;  and  this  time  he 
rolled  way  through  the  entry,  out  on  the  doorstep ! 

Then  came  such  a  pleasant  evening !  Aunt  Phebe  said 
'twas  a  pity  for  Grandmother  to  go  to  getting  supper,  they 
might  as  well  all  come  over.  Where  anybody  had  to  boil  the 
teakettle  and  set  the  table,  half  a  dozen  more  or  less  did  n't 
matter  much. 

So  we  all  ate  supper  together,  and  it  seemed  to  me  I  never 
did  get  into  such  a  jolly  set !  Uncle  Jacob  and  Aunt  Phebe 
were  so  funny  that  we  could  hardly  eat.  And  in  the  even- 


96  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

ing —     But  't  is  no  use.     If  I  begin  to  tell,  and  tell  all  I 
want  to,  there  won't  be  any  room  left  for  the  letters. 

Now  comes  quite  a  gap  in  the  correspondence.  Ther6 
must  have  been  many  letters  written  about  this  time,  which 
were,  unfortunately,  not  preserved.  The  next  in  order  I  find 
to  be  a  short  epistle  from  Bubby  Short,  written,  it  would 
seem,  soon  after  the  winter  holidays. 

A  Letter  from  Bubby  Short. 
DEAR  BILLY,  — 

My  mother  is  all  the  one  that  I  ever  wrote  a  letter  to 
before.  So  excuse  poor  writing,  and  this  pen  is  n't  a 
very  good  pen  to  write  with  I  bet.  I  am  very  sorry 
that  you  can't  come  back  quite  yet.  I  hope  that  it  won't 
be  a  fever  that  you  are  going  to  have.  Does  your 
grandma  think  that  't  is  going  to  be  a  fever?  Do  you 
take  bitter  medicine?  I  never  had  a  fever.  I  take  little 
pills  every  time  I  have  anything.  My  mother  likes  little 
pills  best  now.  But  she  used  to  make  me  take  bitter 
stuff.  Once  she  put  it  in  my  mouth  and  I  would  n't 
swallow  it  down.  Then  she  pinched  my  nose  together 
and  it  made  me  swallow  it  down.  Once  I  ate  up  all  the 
little  pills  out  of  the  bottle,  and  she  was  very  scared 
about  it.  It  was  n't  very  full.  But  the  doctor  said  that 
it  would  n't  hurt  me  any  if  I  did  eat  them.  How  many 
presents  did  you  have  ?  I  had  five.  Dorry  he  says  he 
hopes  that  it  won't  be  a  slow  fever  that  you  are  going  to 
have  if  you  do  have  any  fever,  for  he  wants  you  to  hurry 
and  come  back.  Some  new  fellows  have  come.  One  is 
a  tip-top  one.  And  one  good  "  pitcher."  I  hope  you 
will  come  back  very  soon,  'cause  I  like  you  very  much. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  97 

Do  you  know  who  't  is  writing  ?     I  am  that  one  all  you 
fellers  call 

BUBBY  SHORT. 

As  may  be  gathered  from  the  foregoing  letter,  William 
Henry  did  not  go  back  to  school  with  the  rest.  He  was 
taken  ill  just  at  the  close  of  vacation,  and  remained  at  home 
until  spring.  Grandmother  said  it  was  such  a  comfort  that  it 
did  n't  happen  away.  And  it  seemed  to  me  that  this  thought 
really  made  her  enjoy  his  being  sick  at  home. 

Indeed,  the  people  at  Summer  Sweeting  place  seemed  ready 
to  get  enjoyment  from  everything,  even  from  gruel,  which  is 
usually  considered  flat.  I  passed  a  day  there  at  a  time  when 
William  Henry  was  subsisting  on  this  very  simple  but  whole- 
some food.  Aunt  Phebe  and  Uncle  Jacob  came  in  to  take 
tea  at  grandmother's.  The  old  lady  was  bringing  out  her  nice 
things  to  set  on  the  table,  when  Aunt  Phebe  said  suddenly, 
I  suppose  seeing  a  hungry  look  in  Billy's  eyes.  She  said,  — 

"  Now,  Grandmother,  I  would  n't  bring  those  out.  Let  'a 
have  a  gruel  supper,  and  all  fare  alike  !  We  '11  make  it  in 
different  ways,  —  milk  porridge,  oatmeal,  corn-starch,  —  and 
I  think  't  will  be  a  pleasant  change." 

"  Gruel  is  very  nourishing,  well  made."  said  Grandmother  ; 
"  but  what  will  Mr.  Fry  say  V  " 

"  Mr.  Fry  will  say,"  I  answered,  "  that  milk  porridge,  with 
Boston  crackers,  is  a  dish  fit  for  a  king." 

"  I  'm  afraid  Jacob  won't  think  he  's  been  to  supper,"  said 
Grandmother. 

"  O  yes,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  "  I  '11  think  I  have  at  any 
rate.  But  I  like  mine  the  way  the  man  in  the  moon  did  his, 
or  part  of  the  way." 

''  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  "  I  understand  !  The  last  part 
—  the  '  plum '  part !  " 

"  O,  don't  all  eat  gruel  for  me,"  said  Billy.  "  Course  I 
sha'  n't  be  a  baby,  and  cry  for  things  ! " 


98  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

But  Aunt  Phebe  seemed  resolved  to  develop  the  gruel  idea 
to  its  utmost.  She  made  all  kinds,  —  Indian  meal,  oatmeal, 
corn-starch,  flour,  mixed  meals,  wheat ;  made  it  sweetened, 
and  spiced  with  pluins,  and  plain.  One  kind,  that  she  called 
"  thickened  milk,"  was  delicious.  "  Course  "  we  had  one  cup 
of  tea,  and  bread  and  butter,  and  I  can  truly  say  that  I  have 
eaten  many  a  worse  supper  than  a  "  gruel  supper." 

Here  is  a  letter  from  William  Henry  to  Dorry,  written  when 
tie  began  to  get  well :  — 

William  Henry's  Letter  to  Dorry. 
DEAR  DORRY,  — 

I'm  just  as  hungry  as  anything,  now,  about  all  the 
time.  My  grandmother  says  she 's  so  glad  to  see  me  eat 
again  ;  and  so  am  I  glad  to  eat  myself.  Things  taste 
better  than  they  did  before.  Maybe  I  shall  come  back 
to  school  again  pretty  soon,  my  father  says  ;  but  my  grand- 
mother guesses  not  very,  because  she  thinks  I  should 
have  a  relapse  if  I  did.  A  relapse  is  to  get  sick  when 
you  're  getting  well ;  and,  if  I  should  get  sick  again,  O 
what  should  I  do !  for  I  want  to  go  out-doors  If  they  'd 
only  let  me  go  out,  I  'd  saw  wood  all  day,  or  anything. 
There  is  n't  much  fun  in  being  sick,  I  tell  you,  Dorry  ;  but 
getting  well,  O,  that 's  the  thing !  I  tell  you  getting  well 's 
jolly  !  I  have  very  good  things  sent  to  me  about  every 
day,  and  when  I  want  to  make  molasses  candy  my  grand- 
mother says  yes  every  time,  if  she  is  n't  frying  anything 
in  the  spider  herself;  and  then  I  wait  and  whistle  to  my 
sister's  canary-bird,  or  else  look  out  the  window.  But 
she  tells  me  to  stand  a  yard  back,  because  she  says  cold 
comes  in  the  window-cracks:  and  my  uncle  Jacob  he  took 
the  yardstick  one  day,  and  measured  a  yard,  and  put  a 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 


99 


chalk  mark  there,  where  my  toes  must  come  to,  he  said. 
If  I  hold  the  yardstick  a  foot  and  a  half  up  from  the  floor, 
my  sister's  kitty  can  jump  over  it  tip-top.  My  sister  has 


made  a  Red-Riding-Hood  cloak  for  her  kitty,  and  a  muff 
to  put  her  fore  paws  in,  and  takes  her  out. 


Yesterday  Uncle  Jacob  came  into  the  house  and  said 
he  had  brought  a  carriage  to  carry  me  over  to  Aunt 
Phebe's ;  and  when  I  looked  out  it  was  n't  anything 
but  a  wheelbarrow.  My  grandmother  said  I  must 
wrap  up,  for  't  was  the  first  time ;  so  she  put  two  over- 


100  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

coats  on  me,  and  my  father's  long  stockings  over  my 
shoes  and  stockings,  and  a  good  many  comforters,  and 
then  a  great  shawl  over  my  head  so  I  need  n't  breathe 
the  air ;  and  't  was  about  as  bad  as  to  stay  in.  Uncle 
Jacob  asked  her  if  there  was  a  Billy  in  that  bundle,  when 
he  saw  it.  "  Hallo,  in  there !  "  says  he.  "  Hallo,  out 
there  ! "  says  I.  Then  he  took  me  up  in  his  arms,  and 
carried  me  out,  and  doubled  me  up,  and  put  me  down  in 
the  wheelbarrow,  and  threw  the  buffalo  over  me  ;  but  one 
leg  got  undoubled,  and  fell  out,  so  I  had  to  drag  my  foot 
most  all  the  way.  Aunt  Phebe  undid  me,  and  set  me 
close  to  the  fire  ;  and  Lucy  Maria  and  the  rest  of  them 
brought  me  story-books  and  picture-papers;  and  Tommy, 
he  kept  round  me  all  the  time,  making  me  whittle  him 
out  little  boats  out  of  a  shingle,  and  we  had  some  fun  sail- 
ing 'em  in  a  milk-pan.  Aunt  Phebe  had  chicken  broth 
for  dinner,  and  I  had  a  very  good  appetite.  She  let  me 
look  into  all  her  closets  and  boxes,  and  let  me  open  all 
her  drawers.  But  I  had  to  have  a  little  white  blanket 
pinned  on  when  I  went  round,  because  she  was  afraid  her 
room  was  n't  kept  so  warm  as  my  grandmother's.  Soon 
as  Uncle  Jacob  came  in  and  saw  that  little  white  blanket 
he  began  to  laugh.  "  So  Aunt  Phebe  has  got  out  the 
signal  of  distress"  says  he.  He  calls  that  blanket  the 
"  signal  of  distress,"  because  when  any  of  them  don't  feel 
well,  or  have  the  toothache  or  anything,  she  puts  it  on 
them.  She  says  he  shall  have  to  wear  it  some  time,  and 
I  guess  he  '11  look  funny,  he 's  so  tall,  with  it  on.  The 
fellers  played  base-ball  close  to  Aunt  Phebe's  garden.  I 
tell  you  I  shall  be  glad  enough  to  get  out-doors.  I  tell 
you  it  is  n't  much  fun  to  look  out  the  window  and  see  'em 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  101 

play  ball.  Bat  Uncle  Jacob  says  if  the  ball  hit  me  't 
would  knock  me  over  now.  Aunt  Phebe  was  just  as 
clever,  and  let  me  whittle  right  on  the  floor,  and  did  n't 
care  a  mite.  And  we  made  corn-balls.  But  the  best 
fun  was  finding  things,  when  I  was  rummaging.  I  found 
some  pictures  in  an  old  trunk  that  she  said  I  might  have, 
and  I  want  you  to  give  them  to  Bubby  Short  to  put  in 
the  Panorama  he  said  he  was  going  to  make.  He  said 
the  price  to  see  it  would  be  two  cents.  They  are  true 
ones,  for  they  are  about  Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy.  One 
day,  when  he  was  a  good  deal  smaller  feller  than  he  is 
now,  he  went  out  when  it  had  done  raining  one  day,  and 
the  wind  blew  hard,  and  he  found  an  old  umbrella,  and 
did  just  what  is  in  the  pictures.  The  school-teacher  that 
boarded  there,  O,  she  could  draw  cows  and  pigs  and  any- 
thing ;  and  she  drew  these  pictures,  and  wrote  about  them 
underneath. 

I  wish  you  would  write  me  a  letter,  and  tell  Beujie  to 
and  Bubby  Short. 

From  your  affectionate  friend, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.      What  are  you  fellers  playing  now  ? 

Thinking  the  school-teacher's  pictures  might  please  other 
little  Tommys,  I  have  taken  some  pains  to  procure  them  for 
insertion  here.  Little  "  fellers  "  usually  are  fond  of  carrying 
umbrellas,  —  large  size  preferred.  Nothing  suited  Tommy 
better  than  marching  off  to  school  of  a  rainy  day  with  one 
up  full  spread,  provided  he  could  bold  it.  His  cousin  Myra 
once  took  an  old  umbrella  and  cut  it  down  into  a  small  one, 
by  chopping  off  the  en<ls  of  the  sticks,  supposing  he  would 
be  delighted  with  it.  But  no,  he  wanted  a  "man's  one" 


102 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 


TOMMY  ON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

TOMMY  sets  forth  upon  his  travels  around  the  house, 
taking  with  him  his  whip. 


At  the  first  corner  he  picks  up  an  umbrella.     A  larger 
boy  opens  the  umbrella,  and  shows  him  the  way  to  hold 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 


103 


;t.     Being  an  old  umbrella,  it  shuts  down  again.     But 
Tommy  still  keeps  on  in  his  way. 

At  the  second  corner  a  gust  of  wind  takes  down  the 


umbrella,  and  blows  his  capes  over  his  head.     He  pushes 
on,  however,  whip  in  hand,  dragging  the  umbrella  u-~^:id 

him 

JLJL-U-J- 


104 


THE   WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 


On  turning  the  third  corner  a  hen  runs  between  his 
legs,  and  throws  him  down  in  the  mud. 

He  is  taken  inside,  stripped  and  washed,  and  left  sit- 
ting upon  the  floor  in  his  knit  shirt,  waiting  for  clean 
clothes.  He  can  reach  the  handle  of  the  molasses-jug. 
He  does  reach  the  handle,  and  tips  over  the  jug.  His 
mother  finds  him  eating  molasses  off  the  floor  with  his 
forefinger.  Tommy  looks  up  with  a  sweet  smile. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 


Here  we  have  William  Henry  back  at  school  again. 


105 


William  Henry  to  his  Grandmother. 
MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER,  — 

I  've  been  here  three  days  now.  I  came  safe  all  the 
way,  but  that  glass  vial  you  put  that  medicine  into,  down 
in  the  corner  of  the  trunk,  broke,  and  some  white  stock- 
ings down  there,  they  soaked  it  all  up  ;  but  I  sha'  n't  have 
to  take  it  now,  and  no  matter,  I  guess,  for  I  feel  well,  all 
but  my  legs  feeling  weak  so  I  can't  run  hardly  any.  When 
I  got  here,  the  boys  were  playing  ball ;  but  they  all  ran 
to  shake  hands,  and  slapped  my  shoulders  so  they  almost 
slapped  me  down,  and  hollered  out,  "  How  are  you,  Billy  ?  ' 
"  How  fares  ye  ?  "  "  Welcome  back  ! "  "  Got  well  ?  " 
"  Good  for  you,  Billy  !  "  Gus  Beals  —  he  's  the  great 
tall  one  we  call  "  Mr.  Augustus  "  —  he  called  out,  "  How 


are  you,  red-top  ?  "     And  then  Dorry  called  out  to  him, 
"  How  are  you,  hay-pole  ?  "     Dorry  and  Bubby  Short 
want  me  to  tell  you  to  thank  Aunt  Phebe  for  their  dough- 
5* 


106 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 


nuts,  and  you,  too,  for  that  molasses  candy.  The  candy 
got  soft,  and  the  paper  jammed  itself  all  into  the  candy, 
but  Bubby  Short  says  he  loves  paper  when  it  has  molass- 
es candy  all  over  it.  I  gave  some  of  the  things  to  Benjie. 
Something  hurt  me  all  the  way  coming,  in  the  toe  of  my 
boot ;  and  when  I  got  here  I  looked,  and  't  was  a  five- 
cent  piece  right  in  the  toe  !  I  know  who  't  was  !  'T  was 


Uncle  Jacob  when  he  made  believe  look  to  see  if  that 
boot-top  was  n't  made  of  mighty  poor  leather.  I  went 
to  spend  it  yesterday,  down  to  the  Two  Betseys'  shop. 
Lame  Betsey  called  me  a  poor  little  dear,  and  was  just 
going  to  kiss  me,  but  I  twisted  my  face  round.  I'm  too 
big  for  all  that  now,  I  guess.  She  looked  for  something 
to  give  me,  and  was  just  going  to  give  me  a  stick  of 
candy ;  but  the  other  Betsey  said  't  was  no  use  to  give 
little  boys  candy,  for  they  'd  only  swallow  it  right  down ; 
so  she  gave  me  a  row  of  pins,  for  she  said  pins  were 
proper  handy  things  when  your  buttons  ripped  off.  Just 
when  I  was  coming  back  from  the  Two  Betseys'  shop  I 
met  Gapper  Skyblue.  He  goes  about  selling  cakes  now. 
A  good  many  boys  were  round  him,  in  a  hurry  to  buy 
first,  and  all  you  could  hear  was,  "  Here,  Gapper ! " 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  107 

"  This  way,  Gapper  ! "  "  You  know  me,  Gapper ! "  "  Me, 
me,  me  ! "  One  boy  —  he 's  a  new  boy  —  spoke  up  loud 
and  said,  "  Mr.  Skyblue,  please  attend  to  me,  if  you  please, 
for  I  have  five  pennies  to  spend !  "  He  came  from  Jer- 
sey. The  fellers  call  him  "  Old  Wonder  Boy,"  because 
he  brags  and  tells  such  big  stories.  But  now,  just  as 
soon  as  he  begins  to  tell,  Dorry  begins  too,  and  always 
tells  the  biggest,  —  makes  them  up,  you  know.  O,  I  tell 
you,  Dorry  gives  it  to  him  good  !  You  'd  die  a  laughing 
to  hear  Dorry,  and  so  do  all  the  fellers.  W.  B.,  —  that 's 
what  we  call  Old  Wonder  Boy  sometimes,  — -  W  stands 
for  Wonder,  and  B  stands  for  Boy,  —  he  says  cents  are 
not  cents ;  says  they  are  pennies,  for  the  Jersey  folks 
call  them  pennies,  and  he  guesses  they  know.  He  says 
he  gets  his  double  handful  of  pennies  to  spend  every  day 
down  in  Jersey.  But  Bubby  Short  says  he  knows  that 's 
a  whopper,  for  he  knows  there  would  n't  anybody's  mother 
give  them  their  double  handful  of  pennies  to  spend  every 
day,  nor  cents  either,  nor  their  father  either.  And  then 
Dorry  told  Old  Wonder  Boy  that  he  supposed  it  took  his 
double  handful  of  pennies  to  buy  a  roll  of  lozenges  down 
in  Jersey.  Then  W.  B.  said  that  our  lozenges  were  all 
flour  and  water,  but  down  in  Jersey  they  were  clear 
sugar,  and  just  as  plenty  as  huckleberries.  Dorry  said 
he  did  n't  believe  any  huckleberries  grew  out  there,  or  if 
they  did,  they  'd  be  nothing  but  red  ones,  for  the  ground 
was  red  out  in  Jersey.  But  W.  B.  said  no  matter  if  the 
ground  was  red,  the  huckleberries  were  just  as  black  as 
Yankee  huckleberries,  and  blacker  too,  and  three  times 
bigger,  and  ten  times  thicker.  Said  he  picked  twenty 
quarts  one  day. 


108  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Dorry  said,  "  Poh,  that  was  n't  much  of  a  pick ! " 
Says  he,  "  Now  I  '11  tell  you  a  huckleberry  story  that  'a 
worth  something."  Then  all  the  boys  began  to  hit 
elbows,  for  they  knew  Dorry  would  make  up  some  funny 
thing.  Says  he :  "I  went  a  huckleberrying  once  to 
Wakonok  Swamp,  and  I  carried  a  fourteen-quart  tin  pail, 
and  a  great  covered  basket,  besides  a  good  many  quart 
and  pint  things.  You  'd  better  believe  they  hung  thick 
in  that  swamp  !  I  found  a  thick  spot,  and  I  slung  my 
fourteen-quart  tin  pail  round  my  waist,  and  picked  with 
both  hands,  and  ate  off  the  bushes  with  my  mouth  all  the 
while.  I  got  all  my  things  full  without  stirring  two  yards 
from  the  spot,  and  then  I  did  n't  know  what  to  do.  But 
I  '11  tell  you  what  I  did.  I  took  off  my  jacket,  and  cut 
my  fishing-line,  and  tied  up  the  bottom  ends  of  my  jacket 
sleeves  and  picked  them  both  full.  And  then  I  did  n't 
know  what  to  do  next.  But  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  did.  I 
took  off  my  overalls,  and  tied  up  the  bottoms  of  their  legs, 
and  picked  them  so  full  you  would  n't  know  but  there 
was  a  boy  standing  up  in  'em ! "  Then  the  boys  all 
clapped. 

"  Well,"  Old  Wonder  Boy  said,  "  how  did  you  get  them 
home  ?  " 

u  O,  got  them  home  easy  enough,"  Dorry  said.  "  First 
I  put  the  overalls  over  my  shoulders,  like  a  boy  going 
pussy-back.  I  slung  all  the  quart  and  pint  things  round 
my  waist,  and  hung  the  covered  basket  on  one  arm,  and 
took  the  fourteen-quart  tin  pail  in  that  same  hand.  Then 
I  tied  my  jacket  to  the  end  of  my  fishing-pole,  and  held 
it  up  straight  in  my  other  hand  like  —  like  a  flag  in  a 
dead  calm ! " 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  109 

O,  you  ought  to  've  seen  the  boys,  —  how  they  winked 
at  one  another  and  puffed  out  their  cheeks  ;  and  some  of 
'em  rolled  over  and  over  down  hill  to  keep  from  laugh- 
ing !  Bubby  Short  got  behind  the  fence,  and  put  his  face 
between  two  bars,  and  called  out,  "  S  —  e  —  double  1 !  " 
But  Dorry  says  they  don't  know  what  a  "  s  —  e  — 
double  1 "  is  down  in  Jersey.  But  I  don't  believe  that 
W.  B.  believes  Dorry's  stories ;  for  I  looked  him  in  the 
face,  and  he  had  a  mighty  sly  look  when  he  asked  Dorry 
how  it  was  he  got  his  huckleberries  home. 

To-day  they  got  a  talking  about  potatoes.  Old  Wonder 
Boy  said  that  down  in  Jersey  they  grow  so  big  you  have 
to  pry  'em  up  out  of  the  hill,  and  it  don't  take  much 
more  than  two  to  make  a  peck.  Dorry  told  him  that 
down  in  Maine  you  could  stand  on  top  the  potato-hills 
and  look  all  round  the  country,  they  were  so  high  ;  and 
he  asked  W.  B.  how  they  planted  'em  in  Jersey,  with 
their  eyes  up  or  down  ?  He  said  he  did  n't  know  which 
•way  they  did  turn  their  eyes.  Then  Dorry  told  him  the 
Yankees  always  planted  potatoes  eyes  up,  so  they  could 
see  which  way  to  grow.  Said  he  planted  a  hill  of  pota- 
toes in  his  father's  garden,  last  summer,  with  their  eyes 
all  down,  and  waited  and  waited,  but  they  did  n't  come 
up.  And  when  he  had  waited  a  spell  longer,  he  raked 
off  the  top  of  that  hill  of  potatoes,  and  all  he  saw  was 
some  roots  sticking  up.  And  he  began  to  dig  down. 
And  he  kept  digging.  Followed  their  stems.  But  he 
never  got  to  the  potato-tops  ;  and  says  he,  "  I  never  did 
get  to  those  potato-tops ! "  O,  you  ought  to  've  heard 
the  boys  ! 

Old    Wonder    Boy    wanted    to   know    where    Dorry 


110  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

thought  they  'd  gone  to.  Dorry  thought  to  himself  a 
minute,  and  looked  just  as  sober,  and  then  says  he,  just 
like  a  school-teacher,  "  The  earth,  in  the  middle,  is 
afire.  I  think  when  they  got  deep  enough  to  feel  the 
warm,  they  guessed  't  was  the  sun,  and  so  kept  heading 
that  way." 

Is  the  world  afire  in  the  middle  ?  Dorry  told  me  that 
part  of  his  story  was  really  true.  How  Uncle  Jacob 
would  laugh  to  sit  down  and  hear  Dorry  and  Old  Wonder 
Boy  tell  about  whales.  W.  B.  calls  'em  wales.  His 
uncle  is  a  ship-captain,  he  says,  and  once  he  saw  a  wale, 
and  the  wale  was  making  for  his  ship,  and  it  chased  'em. 
And,  no  matter  how  they  steered,  that  wale  would  chase. 
And  by  and  by,  in  a  calm  day,  he  got  under  the  vessel 
and  boosted  her  up  out  of  water,  when  all  the  crew  pave 
a  yell,  —  such  a  horrid  yell  that  the  wale  let  'em  down 
so  sudden  that  the  waves  splashed  up  to  the  tops  of  the 
masts,  and  they  thought  they  were  all  drowned. 

"  O,  poh  !  "  Dorry  cried  out.  "  My  uncle  was  a  reg- 
ular whaler,  and  went  a  whaling  for  his  living.  And 
once  he  was  cruising  about  the  whaling-grounds  and  't  was 
in  a  place  where  the  days  were  so  short'  that  the  nights 
lasted  almost  all  day.  And  they  got  chased  by  a  whale. 
And  he  kept  chasing  them.  Night  and  day.  And  there 
came  up  a  gale  of  wind  that  lasted  three  days  and  nights ; 
and  the  ship  went  like  lightning,  night  and  day,  the 
whale  after  them.  And,  when  the  wind  went  down,  the 
whale  was  so  tuckered  that  he  could  n't  swim  a  stroke. 
So  he  floated.  Then  the  cap'n  sang  out  to  'em  to  lower 
a  boat.  And  they  did.  And  the  cap'n  got  in  and  took 
a  couple  of  his  men  to  row  him.  The  whale  was  rather 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  Ill 

longer  than  a  liberty-pole.  About  as  long  as  a  liberty- 
pole  and  a  half.  He  was  asleep,  and  they  steered  for  the 
tail  end.  A  whale's  head  is  about  as  big  as  the  Two 
Betseys'  shop,  and  't  is  filled  with  clear  oil,  without  any 
trying  out.  The  cap'n  landed  on  the  whale's  tail,  and 
went  along  up  on  tiptoe,  and  the  men  rowed  the  boat  along- 
side, and  kept  even  with  him ;  and,  when  he  got  towards 
her  ears,  he  took  off  his  shoes,  and  threw  'em  to  the  men 
to  catch.  After  a  while  he  got  to  the  tip-top  of  her  head. 
Now  I  '11  tell  you  what  he  had  in  his  hand.  He  had  a 
great  junk  of  cable  as  big  round  as  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 
and  not  quite  a  yard  long.  In  one  end  of  it  there  was 
a  point  of  a  harpoon  stuck  in,  and  the  other  end  of  it  was 
lighted.  He  told  the  men  to  stand  ready.  Then  he  took 
hold  of  the  cable  with  both  hands,  and  with  one  mighty 
blow  he  stuck  that  pointed  end  deep  in  the  whale's  head, 
and  then  gave  one  jump  into  the  boat,  and  he  cried  out 
to  the  men,  '  Row  !  row  for  your  lives !  To  the  tail 
end  !  If  you  want  to  live,  row  ! '  And  before  that  whale 
could  turn  round  they  were  safe  aboard  the  ship !  But 
now  I  '11  tell  you  the  best  part  of  the  whole  story.  They 
did  n't  have  any  more  long  dark  nights  after  that.  They 
kept  throwing  over  bait  to  keep  her  chasing,  and  the 
great  lamp  blazed,  and  as  fast  as  the  oil  got  hot  it  tried 
out  more  blubber,  and  that  whale  burned  as  long  as 
there  was  a  bit  of  the  inside  of  him  left.  Flared  up, 
and  lighted  up  the  sea,  and  drew  the  fishes,  and  they  drew 
more  whales ;  and  they  got  deep  loaded,  and  might  have 
loaded  twenty  more  ships.  And  when  they  left  they  took 
a  couple  in  tow,  —  of  whales,  —  and  knocked  out  their 
teeth  for  ivory,  and  then  sold  their  carcasses  to  an  empty 
whaler." 


112 


THE   WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 


Dorry  says  some  parts  of  this  story  are  true.  But  he 
didn't  say  which  parts.  Said  I  must  look  in  the  whale- 
book  and  find  out. 

Your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  I  wish  you  would  please  to  send  me  a  silver 
three-cent  piece  or  five-cent.  Two  squaws  have  got  a 
tent  a  little  ways  off,  and  the  boys  are  going  to  have  their 
fortunes  taken.  But  you  have  to  cross  the  squaws'  hands 
with  silver.  W.  H. 


Georgianna's  Letter  to  William  Henry. 
MY  DEAR  BROTHER  BILLY,  — 

O  Billy,  my  pretty,  darling  little  bird  is  dead !  My 
kitty  did  it,  and  O,  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do,  for  I 
love  my  kitty  if  she  did  kill  my  birdie  ;  but  I  don't  for- 
get about  it,  and  I  keep  thinking  of  my  birdie  every  time 
my  kitty  comes  in  the  room.  I  was  putting  some  seeds 
in  the  glass,  and  my  birdie  looked  so  cunning  ;  and  I  held 


THE   WILLIAM   HENEY  LETTERS.  113 

a  lump  of  white  sugar  in  my  lips,  and  let  him  peck  it. 
And  while  I  was  thinking  what  a  dear  little  bird  he  was, 
I  forgot  he  could  fly  out ;  but  he  could,  for  the  door  was 
open,  and  he  flew  to  the  window.  I  did  n't  think  any- 
thing about  kitty.  It  flew  up  to  that  bracket  you  made, 
and  then  it  went  away  up  in  the  corner  just  as  high  as  it 
could,  on  a  wooden  peg  that  was  there.  I  did  n't  know 
what  made  it  flutter  its  wings  and  tremble  so,  but  grand- 
mother pointed  her  finger  down  to  the  corner,  on  the 
floor,  and  there  was  my  kitty  stretching  out  and  looking 
up  at  my  bird.  Arid  that  was  what  made  poor  birdie 
tremble  so.  And  it  dropped  right  down.  Before  we 
could  run  across  to  catch  kitty,  he  dropped  right  down 
into  her  mouth.  I  never  thought  she  could  get  him.  I 
did  n't  know  what  made  grandmother  hurry.  I  did  n't 
know  that  kitties  could  charm  birds,  but  they  do.  She 
did  n't  have  him  a  minute  in  her  teeth,  and  I  thought  it 
could  n't  be  dead.  But,  O  Billy,  my  dear  birdie  never 
breathed  again  !  I  warmed  him  in  my  hands,  and  tried 
to  make  him  stir  his  wings,  but  he  never  breathed  again. 
Now  the  tears  are  coming  again.  I  thought  I  was  n't 
going  to  cry  any  more.  But  they  come  themselves ; 
when  I  don't  know  it,  they  come ;  and  0,  it  was  such  a 
good  birdie !  When  I  came  home  from  school  I  used  to 
run  to  the  cage,  and  he  would  sing  to  meet  me.  And  I 
put  cliickweed  over  his  cage. 

Grandmother  has  put  away  that  empty  cage  now. 
She  's  sorry,  too.  Did  you  think  a  grandmother  would  be 
sorry  about  a  little  bird  as  that?  But  she  'd  rather  give 
a  good  deal.  When  she  put  the  plates  on  the  table,  and 
rattled  spoons,  he  used  to  sing  louder  and  louder.  And 


114  TH*K  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

in  the  morning  he  used  to  wake  me  up,  singing  away  so 
loud !  Now,  when  I  first  wake  up,  I  listen.  But  O,  it 
is  so  still  now !  Then  in  a  minute  I  remember  all  about 
it.  Sometimes  kitty  jumps  up  on  the  bed,  and  puts  her 
nose  close  down,  and  purrs.  But  I  say,  "  No,  kitty.  Get 
down.  You  killed  little  birdie.  I  don't  want  to  see  you." 
But  she  don't  know  what  I  mean.  She  rubs  her  head  on 
my  face,  and  purrs  loud,  and  wants  me  to  stroke  her  back, 
and  don't  seem  as  if  she  had  been  bad.  She  used  to  be 
such  a  dear  little  kitty.  And  so  she  is.  She  's  pretty  as 
a  pigeon.  Aunt  Phebe  says  she  never  saw  such  a  pretty 
little  gray  and  white  kitty  as  she  is.  I  was  going  to  have 
her  drowned.  But  then  I  should  cry  for  kitty  too.  Then 
I  should  think  how  she  looked  all  drowned,  down  at  the 
bottom,  just  the  same  way  I  do  now  how  my  birdie  looked 
when  it  could  n't  stir  its  little  wings,  and  its  eyes  could  n't 
move. '  My  father  says  that  kitty  did  n't  know  any  bet- 
ter. I  hope  so.  I  took  off  that  pretty  chain  she  had 
round  her  neck.  But  grandmother  thinks  I  had  better 
put  it  on  again.  Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy  says,  "  Don't 
kye,  Dordie,  I  '11  bung  dat  tat.  I  '11  take  a  tick  and 
bung  dat  tat !  "  He  calls  me  Dordie,  I  guess  I  rather 
have  kitty  alive  than  let  her  be  drowned,  don't  you  ? 
Grandmother  wants  you  not  to  catch  cold  and  be  sick. 
From  your  affectionate  sister, 

GEORGIANNA. 
P.  S.  Grandmother  showed  me  how  to  write  this  letter. 

A  c»ged  bird  is  n^ver  a  very  interesting  object  to  me.  But 
this  littln  canary  of  Guorgie's  was  really  a  beautiful  creature, 
ami  very  intelligent.  They  used  to  think  that  he  listened  for 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  115 

her  step  at  noon  and  night ;  for  no  sooner  was  it  heard  in  the 
entry  than  he  peeped  out  with  his  little  bright  eyes,  and  tuned 
up.  and  sang  away,  as  if  to  say,  "  Glad  !  glad  !  glad  you  've 
come !  glad  you  've  come  ! " 

Then  she  would  go  to  the  cage  and  talk  to  him,  and  let  him 
take  sugar  from  her  mouth,  and  would  hang  fresh  chickweed 
about  its  cage.  Mornings  she  used  to  sing,  from  her  bed,  and 
the  bird  would  answer.  Indeed,  he  really  seemed  quite  a 
companion  for  her. 

At  the  time  the  accident  happened  I  had  been  staying  for  a 
few  weeks  at  the  hotel,  a  mile  or  two  off,  and  called  at  the 
farm  that  very  day.  Lucy  Maria  told  me,  as  I  stopped  at 
their  door,  what  the  kitten  had  done,  and  how  Georgianna 
had  cried  and  mourned  and  could  not  be  comforted. 

I  found  her  sitting  on  the  door-step.  She  had  placed  the 
bird  in  a  small  round  basket,  lined  with  cotton-wool,  and  was 
bending  over,  aiid  stroking  it.  I  had  always  noticed  the  bird 
&  great  deal,  used  to  play  with  it,  and  whistle  to  make  it  sing 
louder  and  louder.  The  sight  of  me  brought  all  this  back  to 
her  mind,  and  she  burst  into  tears  again,  sobbing  out,  "  O,  he 
never —  will  sing  —  any  more  !  Dear  little  birdie  !  He  had 
to  fall  down  !  He  could  n't  —  help  it ! " 

I  talked  with  her  awhile,  in  a  cheerful  way,  and  when  she 
had  become  quite  calm  I  held  out  my  hand  and  said,  "  Come, 
Georgie,  don't  you  want  to  go  with  me  and  find  a  pretty  place 
where  we  can  put  birdie  away,  under  the  soft  grass  ?  And 
we  will  plant  a  flower  there." 

The  idea  of  the  soft  grass  and  the  flower  seemed  to  please 
her.  She  took  my  hand,  and  we  went  to  look  about. 

We  thought  the  garden  not  a  very  good  place,  because  it 
was  dug  up  every  year,  and  the  field  would  be  mowed  and 
trampled  upon.  But  just  over  the  fence,  back  of  the  garden, 
we  came  upon  some  uneven  ground,  where  the  old  summer- 
sweeting  trees  grew.  In  one  place  there  was  a  sudden  pitch 


116  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

downwards,  into  a  little  hollow,  which  grass  and  plantain 
leaves  made  almost  forever  green.  For  here  was  what  they 
called  the  Boiling  Spring.  The  water  bubbled  out  of  the 
ground  on  the  slope  of  the  bank,  and  in  former  times,  before 
the  well  was  dug,  had  been  used  in  the  family.  Several  trees 
grew  about  there,  —  wild  cherry,  damson,  and  poplar,  —  and  a 
profusion  of  yellow  flowers,  wild  ones.  Some  of  tht'se  "rand- 
mother  called  "  Ladies'  Slipper  "  ;  the  others,  "  Sullendine." 
The  spring  had,  once  been  stoned  up  and  boxed  over.  But 
the  boards  were  now  rotting  away,  the  stones  falling  in,  and 
our  little  hollow  had  quite  a  deserted  look.  The  water  trickled 
out  and  ran  away  around  the  curve  of  the  bank. 

Grandmother  came  with  us,  and  Georgie's  teacher,  and 
Matilda  and  Tommy.  We  hollowed  out  a  little  place  under 
the  wild-cherry  tree,  wrapped  the  birdie  in  cotton- wool,  lay 
him  in,  and  covered  him  over  with  the  green  sod.  I  then 
went  down  by  the  stone  wall,  where  sweetbriers  were  grow- 
ing, dug  up  a  very  pretty  little  one,  and  set  it  out  close  by,  so 
that  it  might  lean  against  the  cherry-tree.  Tommy  kept  very 
sober,  and  scarcely  spoke  a  word,  till  it  was  all  over.  He 
then  said  to  me,  in  a  very  earnest  tone,  "  Mr.  Fwy,  now  will 
another  birdie  grow  up  there  ?  "  I  suppose  he  was  thinking 
of  his  father's  planting  corn  and  more  corn  growing. 

William  Henry  to  his  Sister. 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  SISTER, — 

I  'm  sorry  your  little  birdie  's  dead  !  He  was  a  nice 
singing  birdie  !  But  I  would  n't  cry.  Maybe  you  '11 
have  another  one  some  time,  if  you  're  a  good  litile  girl. 
Maybe  father  '11  go  to  Boston  and  buy  you  one,  er  maybe 
Cousin  Joe  will  send  one  home  to  you,  in  a  vessel,  or 
maybe  I  '11  catch  one,  or  maybe  a  man  will  come  along 
with  birds  to  sell,  or  maybe  Aunt  Phebe's  bird  will  lay 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  117 

an  egg  and  hatch  one  out.  I  would  n't  feel  bad  about  it. 
It  is  n't  any  use  to  feel  bad  about  it.  Maybe,  if  lie 
had  n't  been  killed,  he  'd  V  died.  Dorry  says,  "  Tell  her, 
Don't  you  cry,'  and  I  '11  give  her  something,  catch  her  a 
rabbit  or  a  squirrel !  "  Says  he  '11  tease  his  sister  for  her 
white  mice.  Says  he  '11  tease  her  with  the  tears  in  his 
eyes,  —  or  else  her  ban  ties. 

How  do  you  like  your  teacher?  Do  you  learn  any 
lessons  at  school  ?  You  must  try  to  get  up  above  all  the 
other  ones.  We  've  got  two  new  teachers  this  year. 
One  is  clever,  and  we  like  that  one,  but  the  other  one  is  n't 
very.  We  call  the  good  one  Wedding  Cake,  and  we  call 
the  other  one  Brown  Bread.  Did  grandmother  tell  you 
about  the  Fortune  Tellers  ?  We  went  to-day  and  she 
told  mine  true.  She  said  my  father  was  a  very  kind 
man,  and  said  I  was  quick  to  get  mad,  and  said  I  had 
just  got  something  I  'd  wanted  a  long  time  (watch,  you 
know),  and  said  I  should  have  something  else  that  I 
wanted,  but  did  n't  say  when.  I  wonder  how  she  knew 
I  wanted  a  gun.  I  thought  perhaps  somebody  told  her, 
and  laid  it  to  Old  Wonder  Boy,  for  we  two  had  been 
talking  about  guns.  But  he  flared  up  just  like  a  flash  of 
powder.  "  There.  Now  you  need  n't  blame  that  on  to 
me  ! "  says  he.  "  You  fellers  always  do  blame  everything 
on  to  me  ! "  Sometimes  when  somebody  touches  him  he 
hollers  out,  "  Leave  me  loose  !  Leave  me  loose  !  " 
Dorry  says  that 's  the  way  fellers  talk  down  in  Jer- 
sey. The  Fortune  Teller  told  W.  B.  that  he  came  from 
a  long  way  off,  and  that  he  wanted  to  be  a  soldier,  but 
he  'd  better  give  up  that,  for  he  would  n't  dare  to  go  to  war, 
•without  he  went  behind  to  sell  pies.  All  of  us  laughed  to 


118  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

hear  that,  for  Old  Wonder  Boy  is  quick  to  get  scared. 
But  he  is  always  straightening  himself  up,  and  looking 
big,  and  talking  about  his  native  land,  and  what  he  would 
do  for  his  native  land,  and  how  he  would  fight  for  his 
native  land,  and  how  he  would  die  for  his  native  land. 
He  says  that  why  she  told  him  that  kind  of  a  fortune 
was  because  he  gave  her  pennies  and  not  silver  money. 
His  uncle  that  goes  cap'n  of  a  vessel  has  sent  him  a  let- 
ter, and  in  the  letter  it  said  that  he  had  a  sailor  aboard 
\is  ship  that  used  to  come  to  this  school. 

I  was  going  to  tell  you  a  funny  story  about  W.  B.'s 
getting  scared,  but  Dorry  he  keeps  teasing  me  to  go 
somewhere.  I  made  these  joggly  letters  when  he  tickled 


my  ears  with  his  paint-brush.  Has  your  pullet  begun  to 
lay  yet  ?  I  hope  my  rooster  won't  be  killed.  Tell  them 
not  to.  Benjie  says  he  had  a  grand  great  rooster.  It 
was  white  and  had  green  and  purple  tail  feathers,  O,  very 
long  tail  feathers,  and  stood  'most  as  high  as  a  barrel  of 
flour,  with  great  yellow  legs,  and  had  a  beautiful  crow, 
and  could  drive  away  every  other  one  that  showed  his 
head,  and  he  set  his  eyes  by  that  rooster,  but  when  he 
got  home  they  had  killed  him  for  broth,  and  when  he 
asked  'em  where  his  rooster  was  they  brought  out  the 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  119 

•wish-bone  and  two  tail  feathers,  and  that  was  all  there 
was  left  of  him.  I  would  n't  have  poor  little  kitty 
drowned  way  down  in  the  deep  water  'cause  to  drown  a 
kitty  could  n't  make  a  birdie  alive  again.  Have  your 
flowers  bloomed  out  yet?  You  must  be  a  good  little  girl, 
and  try  to  please  your  grandmother  all  you  can. 
From  your  affectionate  brother, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  Now  Dorry  's  run  to  head  off  a  loose  horse,  and 
I  '11  tell  you  about  Old  Wonder  Boy's  getting  scared.  It 
was  one  night  when  —  Now  there  comes  Dorry  back 
again  !  But  next  time  I  will. 

W.  H. 

William  Henry  to  his  Sister,  about  Old  Wonder   Eoy's 

Fright. 
MY  DEAR  SISTER, — 

I  will  put  that  little  story  I  am  going  to  tell  you  right 
at  the  beginning,  before  Dorry  and  Bubby  Short  get  back. 
I  mean  about  W.  B.'s  getting  scared.  But  don't  you  be 
scared,  for  after  all  't  was  —  no,  I  mean  after  all 't  was  n't 
—  but  wait  and  you  '11  know  by  and  by,  when  I  tell  you. 
'T  was  one  night  when  Dorry  and  I  and  some  more  fel- 
lers were  a  sitting  here  together,  and  we  all  of  us  heard 
some  thick  boots  coming  a  hurrying  up  the  stairs,  and  the 
door  came  a  banging  open,  and  W.  B.  pitched  in,  just  as 
pale  as  a  sheet,  and  could  n't  but  just  breathe.  And  he 
tried  to  speak,  but  could  n't,  only  one  word  at  once,  and 
catching  his  breath  between,  just  so,  —  "  Shut —  the  — 
door  !  —  Do  !  —  Do !  —  shut  —  the  door !  "  Then  we 
shut  up  the  door,  and  Bubi»y  Short  stood  his  back  up 


120  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

against  it  because  't  would  n't  quite  latch,  and  now  I  will 
tell  you  what  it  was  that  scared  him.  Not  at  the  first  of 
it,  but  I  shall  tell  it  just  the  same  way  we  found  it  out. 

Says  he,  "  I  was  making  a  box,  and  when  I  got  it  done 
't  was  dark,  but  I  went  to  carry  the  carpenter's  tools 
back  to  him,  because  I  promised  to.  And  going  along," 
pays  he,  "I, thought  I  heard  a  funny  noise  behind  me, 
but  I  did  n't  think  very  much  about  it,  but  I  heard  it 
a^ain,  and  I  looked  over  my  shoulder,  and  I  saw  some- 
thing white  behind  me,  a  chasing  me.  I  went  faster,  and 
then  that  went  faster.  Then  I  went  slower,  and  then 
that  went  slower.  And  then  I  got  scared  and  ran  as  fast 
as  I  could,  and  looked  over  my  shoulder  and  't  was  keep- 
ing up.  But  it  did  n't  run  with  feet,  nor  with  legs,  for 
then  I  should  n't  'a'  been  scared.  But  it  came  —  O,  I 
don't  know  how  it  came,  without  anything  to  go  on." 

Dorry  asked  him,  "  How  did  it  look  ?  " 

u  O,  —  white.     All  over  white,"  says  W.  B. 

"  How  big  was  it  ?  "  Bubby  Short  asked  him. 

"  O,  —  I  don't  know,"  says  W.  B.  "  First  it  looked 
about  as  big  as  a  pigeon,  but  every  time  I  looked  round 
it  seemed  to  grow  bigger  and  bigger." 

"  Maybe  't  was  a  pigeon,"  says  Dorry.  "  Did  it  have 
any  wings  ?  *' 

"  Not  a  wing,"  says  W.  B. 

"  Maybe  't  was  a  white  cat,"  says  Mr.  Augustus. 

"  0,  poh,  cat  !  "  says  W.  B. 

"  Or  a  poodle  dojr,"  says  Benjie. 

"  Nonsense,  poodle  dog  !  "  says  W.  B. 

"  Or  a  rabbit,"  s;iys  Bubby  Short. 

"  O,  go  'way  with  your  rabbit !  "  says  W.  B.  "  Did  n't 
I  tell  you  it  had  n't  any  feet  or  legs  to  go  with  ?  " 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  121 

"  Then  how  could  it  go  ?  "  Mr.  Augustus  asked  him. 

"  That 's  the  very  thing,"  said  W.  B. 

"  Snakes  do,"  says  Bubby  Short. 

"  But  a  snake  would  n't  look  white,"  says  Benjie. 

"  Without 't  was  scared,"  says  Dorry. 

I  said  I  guessed  I  knew.  Like  enough  't  was  a  ghost 
«f  something. 

I  said  like  enough  of  a  robin  or  some  kind  of  bird. 

"  Of  what  ?  "  then  they  all  asked  me. 

"  That  he  'd  stolen  the  eggs  of,"  says  Dorry. 

"  O  yes  !  "  says  Old  Wonder  Boy.  "  It 's  easy  enough 
to  laugh,  in  the  light  here,  but  I  guess  you  'd  fa'  been 
scared,  seeing  something  chasing  you  in  the  dark,  and 
going  up  and  down,  and  going  tick,  tick,  lick,  every  time 
it  touched  ground,  and  sometimes  it  touched  my  side  too." 

"  For  goodness  gracious  !  "  says  Dorry.  "  Can't  you 
tell  what  it  seemed  most  like  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  it  did  n't  seem  most  like  anything.  It 
didn't  run,  nor' walk,  nor  fly,  nor  creep,  nor  glide  along. 
And  when  I  got  to  the  Great  Elm-Tree,  I  cut  round  that 
tree,  and  ran  this  way,  and  that  did  too." 

"  Where  is  it  now  ?  "  Dorry  asked  him. 

"  O,  don't ! "  says  W.  B.  «  Don't  open  the  door.  'T  is 
out  there." 

"  Come,  fellers,"  Dorry  said,  "  let 's  go  find  it." 

Benjie  said,  "Let's  take  something  to  hit  it  with  !" 
And  he  took  an  umbrella  and  I  took  the  bootjack,  and 
Bubby  Short  took  the  towel  horsej  and  Mr.  Augustus 
took  a  hair-brush,  and  Dorry  took  his  boot  with  his  arm  run 
down  in  it,  and  first  we  opened  the  door  a  crack  and 
did  n't  go  out,  but  peeped  out,  but  did  n't  see  anything 
6 


122  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

there.  Then  we  went  out  a  little  ways,  and  then  we 
did  n't  see  anything.  And  pretty  soon,  going  alon^  to- 
wards the  stairs,  Bubby  Short  stepped  on  something. 
'•What's  that?  "  says  he.  And  he  jumped,  and  we  all 
flung  our  things  at  it.  "  Hold  the  light !  "  Dorry  cried 
out. 

Then  W.  B.  brought  out  the  light,  and  there  was  n't 
anything  there  but  a  carpenter's  reel,  with  a  chalk  line 
wound  up  on  it,  and  they  picked  it  up  and  began  to  wind 


up,  and  when  they  came  to  the  end  of  it  —  where  do  you 
s'pose  the  other  end  was  ?  In  W.  B.'s  pocket !  and  his 
ball  and  some  more  things  held  it  fast  there,  and  that 
chalk-line  reel  was  what  went  bobbing  up  and  down  be- 
hind Old  Wonder  Boy  every  step  he  took,  —  bob,  bob, 
bobbing  up  and  down,  for  there  was  a  hitch  in  the  line 
and  it  could  n't  unwind  any  more,  and  the  line  under  the 
door  was  why  't  would  n't  latch,  and  O,  but  you  ought 
to  've  heard  the  fellers  how  they  roared !  and  Bubby 
Short  rolled  over  on  the  floor,  and  Dorry  he  tumbled 
heels  over  head  on  all  the  beds,  and  we  all  shouted  and 
hurrahed  so  the  other  fellers  came  running  to  see  what 
was  up,  and  then  the  teachers  came  to  see  who  was  fling- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  123 

ing  things  round  so  up  here,  and  to  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter, but  there  could  n't  anybody  tell  what  the  matter  was 
for  laughing,  and  W.  B.  he  looked  so  sheepish  !  0,  if 
it  was  n't  gay  !  How  do  you  like  this  story  ?  That  part 
where  it  touched  his  side  was  when  that  red  caught  on 
something  and  so  jerked  the  string  some.  Now  I  must 
study  my  lesson. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  When  you  send  a  box  don't  send  very  many 
clothes  in  it,  but  send  goodies.  I  tell  you  things  taste 
good  when  a  feller 's  away  from  his  folks.  Dorry's  father 
had  a  picture  taken  of  Dorry's  little  dog  and  sent  it  to 
him,  and  it  looks  just  as  natural  as  some  boys.  Tell 
Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy  he  may  sail  my  boat  once. 
'T  is  put  away  up  garret  in  that  corner  where  I  keep 
things,  side  of  that  great  long-handled  thing,  grand- 
mother's warming-pan.  I  mean  that  little  sloop  boat  I 

had  when  I 's  a  little  feller. 

W.  H. 

Georgianna's  Letter  to  William  Henry. 
MY  DEAR  BROTHER  BILLY,  — 

Kitty  is  n't  drowned.  I  've  got  ever  so  many  new 
dolls.  My  grandmother  went  to  town,  not  the  same  day 
my  kitty  did  that,  but  the  next  day,  and  she  brought  me 
home  a  new  doll,  and  that  same  day  she  went  there  my 
father  went  to  Boston,  and  he  brought  me  home  a  very 
big  one,  —  no,  not  very,  but  quite  big,  —  and  Aunt 
Phebe  went  a  visiting  to  somebody's  house  that  very  day, 
and  she  brought  me  home  a  doll,  and  while  she  was  gone 
away  Hannah  Jane  dressed  over  one  of  Matilda's  old  ones 


X 
124  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

ne\v,  and  none  of  the  folks  knew  that  the  others  were 
going  to  give  me  a  doll,  and  then  Uncle  J.  said  that  if  it 
was  the  family  custom  to  give  Georgianna  a  doll,  he 
would  give  Georgianna  a  doll,  and  he  went  to  the  field 
and  catched  the  colt,  and  tackled  him  up  into  the  riding 
wagon  on  purpose,  and  then  he  started  off  to  town,  and 
when  he  rode  up  to  our  back  door  there  was  a  great  dolly, 
the  biggest  one  I  had,  and  she  was  sitting  down  on  the 
seat,  just  like  a  live  one.  And  she  had  a  waterfall,  and 
she  had  things  to  take  off  and  on.  Then  Uncle  J.  asked 
me  what  I  should  do  with  my  old  dollies  that  were  'most 
worn  out.  And  I  said  I  did  n't  know  what  I  should. 
And  then  Uncle  J.  said  that  he  would  take  the  lot,  for 
twenty-five  cents  a  head,  to  put  up  in  his  garden,  for 
scarecrows,  and  he  asked  me  if  I  would  sell,  and  I  said  I 
would.  And  he  put  the  little  ones  on  little  poles  and  the 
big  ones  on  tall  poles,  with  their  arms  stretched  out,  and 
the  one  with  a  long  veil  looked  the  funniest,  and  so  did 
the  one  dressed  up  like  a  sailor  boy,  but  one  arm  was 
broke  off  of  him,  and  a  good  many  of  their  noses  too. 
The  one  that  had  on  old  woman's  clothes  Uncle  J.  put  a 
pipe  in  her  mouth.  And  the  one  that  had  a  pink  gauze 
dress,  but 't  is  all  faded  out  now,  and  a  long  train,  but  the 
train  was  torn  very  much,  that  one  has  a  great  bunch  of 
flowers  —  paper  —  pinned  on  to  her,  and  another  in  her 
hand,  and  the  puppy  he  barks  at  'em  like  everything. 
My  pullet  lays,  little  ones,  you  know.  I  hope  she  won't 
do  like  Lucy  Maria's  Leghorn  hen.  That  one  flies  into 
the  bedroom  window  every  morning,  and  lays  eggs  on 
the  bedroom  bed.  For  maybe  't  would  come  in  before  I 
got  up.  My  class  has  begun  to  learn  geography,  and  my 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  125 

father-  has  bought  me  a  new  geography.  But  I  guess  I 
sha'  n't  like  to  learn  it  very  much  if  the  backside  is  hard 
as  the  foreside  is.  Uncle  J.  says  no  need  to  worry  your 
mind  any  about  that  old  fowl,  for  he 's  so  tough  he  could  n't 
be  killed.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  how  long  he  could 
live  if  it  was  n't  killed,  for  Uncle  J.  says  they  grow 
tougher  every  year,  and  if  you  should  let  one  live  too 
long,  then  he  can't  die.  But  I  guess  he's  funning,  do  you  ? 
Our  hens  scratched  and  scratched  up  some  of  my  flow- 
ers, and  so  did  the  rain  wash  some  up  that  night  it  came 
down  so  hard,  but  one  pretty  one  bloomed  out  this  morn- 
ing, but  it  has  budded  back  again  now.  Aunt  Phebe 
says  she  sends  her  love  to  you,  tied  up  with  this  pretty 
piece  of  blue  ribbon.  She  says,  if  you  want  to,  you  can 
take  the  ribbon  and  wear  it  for  a  neck  bow.  Grand- 
mother says  how  do  you  know  but  that  sailor  that  went 
to  your  school  in  Old  Wonder  Boy's  uncle's  vessel  is  that 
big  boy,  that  bad  one  that  ran  away,  you  called  Tom 
Cush? 

Father  laughs  to  hear  about  Old  Wonder  Boy,  and  he 
says  a  bragger  ought  to  be  laughed  at,  and  bragging  is  a 
bad  thing.  But  he  don't  want  you  to  pick  out  all  the 
bad  things  about  a  boy  to  send  home  in  your  letters ; 
says  next  time  you  must  send  home  a  good  thing  about 
him,  because  he  thinks  every  boy  you  see  has  some  good 
things  as  well  as  some  bad  things. 

A  dear  little  baby  has  moved  in  the  house  next  to  our 
house.  It  lets  me  hold  her,  and  its  mother  lets  me  drag 
her  out.  It 's  got  little  bits  of  toes,  and  it 's  got  a  little 
bit  of  a  nose,  and  it  says  u  Da  da !  da  da  !  da  da !  "  And 
when  I  was  dragging  her  out,  the  wheel  went  over  a  poor 


126  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

little  butterfly,  but  I  guess  it  was  dead  before.     O,  its 
wings  were  just  as  soft !  and  't  was  a  yellow  one.     And 
I  buried  it  up  in  the  ground  close  to  where  I  buried  up 
my  little  birdie,  side  of  the  spring. 
Your  affectionate  sister, 

GEORGIANNA. 

Among  the  other  letters  I  find  the  following,  from  Tom 
Cush.  As  the  people  at  Summer  Sweeting  place  had  been  told 
the  circumstances  of  his  running  away,  it  was  not  only  proper, 
but  just,  that  William  Henry  should  send  them  this  letter. 

A  Letter  from  Tom  Cush  to  Dorry. 

DEAR  FRIEND, — 

I  have  not  seen  you  for  a  great  while.  I  hope  you 
are  in  good  health.  Does  William  Henry  go  to  school 
there  now  ?  And  does  Benjie  go,  and  little  Bubby 
Short  ?  I  hope  they  are  in  good  health.  Do  the  Two 
Betseys  keep  shop  there  now  ?  Is  Gapper  Skyblue 
alive  now  ?  I  am  in  very  good  health.  I  go  to  sea  now. 
That 's  where  I  went  when  I  went  away  from  school.  I 
suppose  all  the  boys  hate  me,  don't  they  ?  But  I  don't 
blame  them  any  for  hating  me.  I  should  think  they 
would  all  of  them  hate  me.  For  I  did  n't  act  very  well 
when  I  went  to  that  school.  Our  captain  knows  about 
that  school,  for  he  is  uncle  to  a  boy  that  has  begun  to  go. 
He 's  sent  a  letter  to  him.  I  wish  that  boy  would  write 
a  letter  to  him,  because  he  might  tell  about  the  ones  I 
know. 

I  Ve  been  making  up  my  mind  about  telling  you  some- 
thing. I've  been  thinking  about  it,  and  thinking  about 
it.  I  don't  like  to  tell  things  very  well.  But  I  am  going 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  127 

to  tell  this  to  you.  It  is  n't  anything  to  tell.  I  mean  it 
Is  n't  like  news,  or  anything  happening  to  anybody.  But 
it  is  something  about  when  I  was  sick.  For  I  had  a  fit 
of  sickness.  I  don't  mean  afterwards,  when  I  was  so 
very  sick,  but  at  the  first  beginning  of  it. 

The  captain  he  took  some  books  out  of  his  chest  and 
said  I  might  have  them  to  read  if  I  wanted  to.  And  I 
read  about  a  man  in  one  of  them,  and  the  king  wanted 
him  to  do  something  that  the  man  thought  was  n't  right 
to  do ;  but  the  man  said  he  would  not  do  what  was  wrong. 
And  for  that  he  was  sent  to  row  in  a  very  large  boat 
among  all  kinds  of  bad  man,  thieves  and  murderers  and 
the  worst  kind.  They  had  to  row  every  minute,  and 
were  chained  to  their  oars,  and  above  their  waists  they 
had  no  clothes  on.  They  had  overseers  with  long  whips. 
The  officers  stayed  on  deck  over  the  rowers'  heads,  and 
when  they  wanted  the  vessel  to  go  faster,  the  overseers 
made  their  long  whip-lashes  cut  into  the  men's  backs  till 
they  were  all  raw  and  bleeding.  Nights  the  chains  were 
not  taken  off,  and  they  slept  all  piled  up  on  each  other. 
Sometimes  when  the  officers  were  in  a  hurry,  or  when 
there  were  soldiers  aboard,  going  to  fight  the  enemy's 
vessels,  then  the  men  would  n't  have  even  a  minute  to 
eat,  and  were  almost  starved  to  death,  and  got  so  weak 
they  would  fall  over,  but  then  they  were  whipped  again. 
And  when  they  got  to  the  enemy's  ships,  they  had  to  sit 
and  have  cannons  fired  in  among  them.  Then  the  dead 
ones  were  picked  up  and  thrown  into  the  water.  And 
the  king  told  the  man  that  if  he  wanted  to  be  free,  and 
have  plenty  to  eat  and  a  nice  house,  and  good  clothes  to 
wear,  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  promise  to  do  that  wrong 


128  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

thing.  But  the  man  said  no.  For  to  be  chained  there 
would  only  hurt  his  body.  But  to  do  wrong  would  hurt 
his  soul. 

And  I  read  about  some  people  that  lived  many 
hundred  years  ago  and  the  emperor  of  that  country 
•wanted  these  people  to  say  that  their  religion  was  wrong 
and  his  religion  was  the  right  one.  But  they  said,  "  No. 
We  believe  ours  is  true,  and  we  cannot  lie."  Then  the 
emperor  took  away  all  their  property,  and  pierced  them 
with  red-hot  irons,  and  threw  some  into  a  place  where  they 
kept  wild  beasts.  But  they  still  kept  saying,  "  We  can- 
not lie,  we  must  speak  what  we  believe."  And  one  was  a 
boy  only  fifteen  years  old.  And  the  emperor  thought  he 
was  so  young  they  could  scare  him  very  easy.  And  he 
said  to  him,  "  Now  say  you  believe  the  way  I  want  you  to, 
or  I  will  have  you  shut  up  in  a  dark  dungeon."  But  the 
boy  said, "  I  will  not  say  what  is  false."  And  he  was  shut 
up  in  a  dark  dungeon,  underground.  And  one  day  the  em- 
peror said  to  him,  "  Say  you  believe  the  way  I  want  you 
to,  or  I  will  have  you  stretched  upon  a  rack."  But 
the  boy  said,  "  I  will  not  speak  falsely."  And  he  was 
stretched  upon  a  rack  till  his  bones  were  almost  pulled 
apart.  Then  the  emperor  asked,  "Now  will  you  believe 
that  my  religion  is  right  ?  "  But  the  boy  could  not  say  so. 
And  the  emperor  said,  "  Then  you  '11  be  burned  alive !  " 
The  boy  said,  "  I  can  suffer  the  burning,  but  I  cannot 
lie."  Then  he  was  brought  out  and  the  wood  was  piled 
up  round  him,  and  set  on  fire,  and  the  boy  was  burned 
up  with  the  wood.  And  while  he  was  burning  up  he 
thanked  God  for  having  strength  enough  to  suffer  and 
not  lie. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS  129 

Dorry,  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much  I  Ve  been  think- 
ing about  that  man  and  that  boy  ever  since.  And  I  want 
to  ask  you  to  do  something.  I  've  been  thinking  about 
how  mean  I  was,  and  what  I  did  there  so  as  not  to  get 
punished.  And  I  want  you  to  go  see  my  mother  and  tell 
her  that  I  'm  ashamed.  Don't  make  any  promises  to  my 
mother,  but  only  just  tell,  "Tom's  ashamed"  That's 
all.  I  don't  want  to  make  promises.  But  I  know  myself 
just  what  I  mean  to  do.  But  I  sha'n't  talk  about  that 
any.  Give  my  regards  to  all  inquiring  friends. 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

TOM. 

P.  S.  Can't  you  tell  things  about  me  to  William  Henry 
and  the  others,  for  it  is  very  hard  to  me  to  write  a  letter  ? 
Write  soon.  T. 

Mr.  Carver's  visit  to  the  Crooked  Pond  School  alluded  to  in 
the  following  letter  was  quite  an  event  for  my  Summer  Sweet- 
ing friends,  and  caused  an  extra  amount  of  cooking  to  be  done 
in  both  families.  Boys  don't  half  appreciate  the  blessing  of 
not  bting  too  old  to  have  goodies  sent  them.  Now  goodies 
taste  good  to  me,  very  good,  but  I  have  n't  a  friend  in  the 
world  who  would  think  of  boiling  up  a  kettleful  of  molasses 
into  candy,  or  of  making  a  waiterful  of  seed-cakes  to  send 
me.  Too  old,  they  say,  —  in  actions,  if  not  in  words.  How 
cruelly  we  are  misjudged  sometimes,  and  by  those  who  ought 
to  know  us  best !  I  shall  never  be  too  old  to  receive  a  box 
like  that  of  William  Henry's,  never,  never  !  —  unless  my  whole 
constitution  is  altered  and  several  clauses  taken  out  of  it. 

I  remember  of  seeing  that  waiter  of  "  good  seed-cakes  "  on 
grandmother's  best  room  table,  between  the  front  windows, 
waiting  to  be  packed  in  Mr.  Carver's  valise.  Mr.  Carver's 
black  silk  neck-handkerchief,  tall  hat,  clean  dickies,  stockings, 


130  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

two  red  and  white  silk  pocket-handkercbiefs,  and  various  other 
articles  were  distributed  over  the  adjacent  chairs,  and  his  um- 
brella, in  a  brown  cambric  covering,  stood  near  by.  I  have 
the  impression  that  most  of  these  things  were  ironed  over,  five 
or  six  times,  as  grandmother  felt  that  apparel  going  away  from 
home  could  not  be  too  much  ironed.  Besides,  it  seemed  to 
her  impossible  that  such  an  event  as  Billy's  father  setting  out 
on  his  travels  should  take  place  without  extra  exertions  in 
some  quarter. 

Mr.  Carver  had  other  business  which  took  him  from  home, 
but  as  "  going  to  see  Billy  "  was  thought  enough  to  tell  Mrs. 
Paulina,  why,  it  is  enough  for  me  to  tell.  "  Mrs.  Paulina  " 
was  an  elderly  woman,  the  wife  of  Mr.  John  Slade,  one  of  the 
neighbors,  and  she  was  called  "  Mrs.  Paulina,"  to  distinguish 
her  from  several  other  Mrs.  Slades. 

Mrs.  Paulina  had  her  own  opinion  as  to  how  money  and 
time  should  be  spent,  —  everybody's  money  and  time.  She 
was  one  of  the  prying  sort,  and  had  wonderful  skill  in  ferret- 
ing out  all  the  whys  and  wherefores  of  her  neighbor's  proceed- 
ings. It  was  a  common  thing  at  the  Farm  to  say,  when  un- 
dertaking some  new  scheme,  "  Well,  how  much  shall  we  tell 
Mrs.  Paulina  ?  "  It  being  a  matter  of  course  that  she  would 
inquire  into  it.  The  girls  often  amused  themselves  by  giving 
her  blinding  answers  just  to  see  how  she  would  contrive  to 
carry  her  point.  I  remember  their  having  great  fun  doing 
this,  just  after  William  Henry  went  away  to  school.  Lucy 
Maria  said  't  was  just  like  a  conundrum  to  Mrs.  Paulina,  a 
great  mammoth  conundrum,  and  the  poor  thing  must  be  told 
about "  Old  Uncle  Wallace,"  or  she  would  wear  herself  out, 
wondering  "  how  Mr.  Carver  could  possibly  afford  the  money." 

The  "  Old  Uncle  Wallace  "  thus  brought  to  the  rescue  of 
Mrs.  Paulina  would  probably  not  have  came  to  her  rescue, 
or  to  any  woman's  rescue,  had  he  been  free  to  choose,  seeing 
thu  h"  lived  and  died  a  haclu'lor,  and  a  stingy  bachelor  at 
that !  The  old  miser  was  a  distant  uncle,  —  either  half-uncle, 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  131 

or  grand-uncle,  or  half  grand-uncle  of  the  Mr.  Carvers,  and 
lived,  that  is  before  he  died,  in  a  town  some  twenty  miles  off. 
Billy's  father  was  named  for  Uncle  Wallace,'  and  when  a  little 
boy,  lived  in  the  same  neighborhood,  and  was  quite  a  favorite 
with  him. 

The  acquaintance  with  that  distant  branch  of  the  family, 
however,  had  not  been  kept  up,  in  fact  I  have  no  recollection 
of  a  single  member  of  it  ever  coming  to  the  Farm.  They  were 
people  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  neither  Mr.  Carver  nor 
Uncle  Jacob  were  men  to  "  honey  round  "  rich  relations. 
Certainly  they  never  would  have  fawned  upon  the  miserly 
old  fellow,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  mean  and  tricky 
as  well  as  miserly. 

It  seems,  however,  that  "  Uncle  Wallace  "  did  not  wholly 
forget  his  namesake,  for  in  his  will  he  left  him  quite  a  valua- 
ble wood-lot  near  Corry's  Pond,  —  some  six  or  eight  miles  from 
the  Farm,  —  and  a  few  hundred  dollars  besides. 

This  occurred  not  a  great  while  before  my  first  ride  out  with 
Uncle  Jacob.  Mr.  Carver  had  long  felt  that  Billy  was  being 
spoiled  at  home,  and  the  Crooked  Pond  School  being  recom- 
mended at  that  time  as  "  really  good,"  and  "  not  too  expen- 
sive," he  resolved  that  while  feeling  rich  he  would  place  his 
son  at  that  institution.  And  he  was  more  especially  inclined 
to  do  so  for  the  reason  that  an  old  friend  of  his  lived  near 
there,  and  this  friend's  wife  promised  to  see  that  the  boy  did 
not  go  about  in  actual  rags.  She  is  probably  the  person  to 
whom  William  Henry  refers  in  his  first  letters,  as  "  the  woman 
I  go  to  have  my  buttons  sewed  on  to." 

The  above  circumstances  were  duly  imparted  to  Mrs.  Pau- 
lina, yet  that  perplexed  woman  got  no  relief.  True,  it  was 
something  to  know  where  the  money  came  from,  but  "  How 
could  a  man,"  she  asked,  "  spend  so  much  money  on  eddica- 
tion,  when  it  might  be  drawing  interest,  or  put  into  land?  " 

Mrs.  Paulina  could  n't  guess.     She  gave  it  up. 


132  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Wittiam  Henry's  Letter  to  his  Grandmother. 
MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  suppose  my  father  has  got  home  again  by  this  time. 
I  like  to  have  my  father  come  to  see  me.  The  boys  all 
say  my  father  is  a  tip-top  one.  I  guess  they  like  to  have 
a  man  treat  them  with  so  many  peanuts  and  good  seed- 
cakes. I  got  back  here  to-day  from  Dorry's  cousin's  par- 
ty. My  father  let  me  go.  I  wish  my  sister  could  have 
seen  that  party.  Tell  her  when  I  get  there  I  will  tell 
her  all  about  the  little  girls,  and  tell  her  how  cunning  the 
little  ones,  as  small  as  she,  looked  dancing,  and  about  the 
good  things  we  had.  O,  I  never  saw  such  good  things 
before !  I  did  n't  know  there  were  such  kinds  of  good 
things  in  the  world. 

Did  my  father  tell  you  all  about  that  letter  that  Tom 
Gush  wrote  to  Dorry  ?  Ask  him  to.  Dorry  sent  that 
letter  right  to  Tom  Gush's  mother.  And  when  Dorry 
and  I  were  walking  along  together  the  next  morning  after 
the  party,  she  was  sitting  at  her  window,  and  as  soon 
as  she  saw  us  she  said,  "  Won't  you  come  in,  boys  ? 
Do  come  in  !  "  And  looked  so  glad  !  And  laughed,  and 
about  half  cried,  after  we  went  in,  and  it  was  that  same 
room  where  we  went  before.  But  it  did  n't  seem  so 
lonesome  now,  not  half.  It  looked  about  as  sunshiny  as 
our  kitchen  does,  and  they  had  flower-vases.  I  wish  I 
could  get  some  of  those  pretty  seeds  for  my  sister,  for 
she  has  n't  got  any  of  that  kind  of  flowers. 

She  seemed  just  as  glad  to  see  us  !  And  shook  hands 
and  looked  so  smiling,  and  so  did  Tom's  father  when  he 
came  into  the  room.  He  had  a  belt  in  his  hand  that  Tom 


THE   WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  133 

used  to  wear  when  he  used  to  belong  to  that  Base-ball  Club. 
And  when  we  saw  that,  Dorry  said,  "  Why  !  has  Tom  got 
back  ?  "  Tom's  mother  said,  "  0  no."  But  his  father  said, 
"  O  yes !  Tom  's  got  back.  He  has  n't  got  back  to  our 
house,  but  he 's  got  back.  He  has  n't  got  back  to  town, 
but  he  's  got  back.  He  has  n't  got  back  to  his  own  coun- 
try, but  he  's  got  back.  For  I  call  that  getting  back," 
says  he,  "  when  a  boy  gets  back  to  the  right  way  of 
feeling." 

Then  Tom's  mother  took  that  belt  and  hung  it  up  where 
it  used  to  be  before,  for  it  had  been  taken  down  and  put 
away,  because  they  did  n't  want  to  have  it  make  them 
think  of  Tom  so  much. 

She  said  when  Tom  got  back  in  earnest,  back  to  the 
house,  that  we  two,  Dorry  and  I,  must  come  there  and 
make  a  visit,  and  I  hope  we  shall,  for  they  've  got  a  pond 
at  the  bottom  of  their  garden,  and  Tom's  father  owns  a 
boat,  and  you  must  n't  think  I  should  tip  over,  for  I  sha'n't, 
and  no  matter  if  I  should,  I  can  swim  to  shore  easy. 
Your  affectionate  grandchild, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  Bubby  Short  did  n't  mean  to,  but  he  sat  down 
on  my  speckled  straw  hat,  and  we  could  n't  get  it  out 
even  again,  and  I  did  n't  want  him  to,  but  he  would  go 
to  buy  me  a  new  one,  and  I  went  with  him,  but  the  man 
did  n't  have  any,  for  he  said  the  man  that  made  speckled 
straw  hats  was  dead  and  his  shop  was  burnt  down,  and  we 
found  a  brown  straw  hat,  but  I  would  n't  let  Bubby  Short 
pay  any  of  his  money,  only  eight  cents,  because  I  did  n't 
have-quite  enough.  Don't  shopkeepers  have  the  most  mon- 
ey of  all  kinds  of  men  ?  Would  n't  you  be  a  shopkeeper 


134 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


when  I  grow  up  ?  It  seems  just  as  easy !  If  you  was 
me  would  you  swap  off  your  white-handled  jack-knife 
your  father  bought  you  for  a  four-blader  ?  My  sister 
said  to  send  some  of  W.  B.'s  good  things.  He  wrote  a 
very  good  composition  about  heads,  the  teacher  said,  and 
I  am  going  to  send  it,  for  that  will  be  sending  one  of  his 
good  things.  It 's  got  in  it  about  two  dozen  kinds  of 
heads  besides  our  own  heads.  W.  B.  is  willing  for  me 
to  copy  it  off.  And  Bubby  Short  wrote  a  very  cunning 
little  one,  and  if  you  want  to,  you  may  read  it.  The 
teacher  told  us  a  good  deal  about  heads. 

W.  H. 
W.  B's  Composition. 

HEADS. 

HEADS  are  of  different  shapes  and  different  sizes. 
They  are  full  of  notions.  Large  heads  do  not  always 
hold  the  most.  Some  persons  can  tell  just  what  a  man  is 
by  the  shape  of  his  head.  High  heads  are  the  best  kind. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  135 

Very  knowing  people  are  called  long-headed.  A  fellow 
that  won't  stop  for  anything  or  anybody  is  called  hot- 
headed. If  he  is  n't  quite  so  bright,  they  call  him  soft- 
headed ;  if  he  won't  be  coaxed  nor  turned,  they  call  him 
pig-headed.  Animals  have  very  small  heads.  The 
heads  of  fools  slant  back.  When  your  head  is  cut  off 
you  are  beheaded.  Our  heads  are  all  covered  with  hair, 
except  baldheads.  There  are  other  kinds  of  heads  be- 
sides our  heads. 

First,  there  are  Barrel-heads.  Second,  there  are  Pin- 
heads.  Third,  Heads  of  sermons,  —  sometimes  a  minis- 
ter used  to  have  fifteen  heads  to  one  sermon.  Fourth, 
Headwind.  Fifth,  Head  of  cattle,  —  when  a  farmer 
reckons  up  his  cows  and  oxen  he  calls  them  so  many  head 
of  cattle.  Sixth,  Drumheads,  —  drumheads  are  made  of 
sheepskin.  Seventh,  Heads  or  tails,  —  when  you  toss  up 
pennies.  Eighth,  Doubleheaders,  —  when  you  let  off 
rockets.  Ninth,  Come  to  a  head  —  like  a  boil  or  a  re- 
bellion. Tenth,  Cabbageheads,  —  dunces  are  called  cab- 
bageheads,  and  good  enough  for  them.  Eleventh.  At 
Loggerheads,  —  when  you  don't  agree.  Twelfth,  Heads 
of  chapters.  Thirteenth,  Head  him  off,  —  when  you 
want  to  stop  a  horse,  or  a  boy.  Fourteenth,  Head  of  the 
family.  Fifteenth,  A  Blunderhead.  Sixteenth,  The 
Masthead, —  where  they  send  sailors  to  punish  them. 
Seventeenth,  get  up  to  the  head,  —  when  you  spell  the 
word  right.  Eighteenth,  The  Head  of  a  stream,  —  where 
it  begins.  Nineteenth,  Down  by  the  head,  —  when  a 
vessel  is  deep  loaded  at  the  bows.  Twentieth,  a  Figure- 
head carved  on  a  vessel.  Twenty-first,  The  Cathead,  and 
that  *s  the  end  of  a  stick  of  timber  that  a  ship's  anchor 


136  THE   WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

hangs  by.  Twenty-second,  A  Headland,  or  cape.  Twen- 
ty-third, A  Head  of  tobacco.  Twenty-fourth,  A  Bulk- 
head, which  is  a  partition  in  a  ship.  Twenty -fifth,  Go 
ahead, —  but  first  be  sure  you  are  right. 

Bubby  Short's  Composition. 

ON   MORNING. 

IT  is  very  pleasant  to  get  up  in  the  morning  and  walk 
in  the  green  fields,  and  hear  the  birds  sing.  The  morn- 
ing is  the  earliest  part  of  the  day.  The  sun  rises  in  the 
morning.  It  is  very  good  for  our  health  to  get  up  early. 
It  is  very  pleasant  to  see  the  sun  rise  in  the  morning.  In 
the  morning  the  flowers  bloom  out  and  smell  very  good. 
If  it  thunders  in  the  morning,  or  there  's  a  rainbow,  't  will 
be  rainy  weather.  Fish  bite  best  in  the  morning,  when 
you  go  a  fishing.  I  like  to  sleep  in  the  morning. 

Here  is  a  letter  which,  judging  from  the  improvement 
shown  in  handwriting,  and  from  its  rather  more  dashing  style, 
seems  to  have  been  written  during  William  Henry's  second 
school  year. 

William  Henry's  Letter  about  the  " Charade" 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

I  never  did  in  all  my  life  have  such  a  real  tiptop  time 
as  we  fellers  had  last  night.  We  acted  charades,  and 
I  never  did  any  before,  and  the  word  was  —  no,  I 
must  n't  tell  you,  because  it  has  to  be  guessed  by  actions, 
and  when  you  get  the  paper  that  I'm  going  to  send  you, 
soon  as  I  buy  a  two-cent  stamp,  then  you  '11  see  it  all 
printed  out  in  that  paper.  The  teacher  the  fellers  call 


THE   WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  137 

Wedding  Cake,  because  he  's  such  a  good  one,  asked  all 
the  ones  that  board  here  to  come  to  his  house  last  night, 
and  we  acted  charades,  and  his  sister  told  us  what  to  be, 
and  what  things  to  put  on,  and  everything.  You  '11  see 
it  printed  there,  but  you  must  please  to  send  it  back,  for 
I  promised  to  return. 

There  were  n't  females  enough,  and  so  Dorry  he  was 
the  Fat  Woman,  and  we  all  liked  to  ha'  died  a  laughing, 
getting  ready,  but  when  we  were  —  there,  I  'most  told ! 

O  if  you  could  ha'  seen  Bubby  Short,  a  fiddling  away, 
with  old  ragged  clothes  and  old  shoes  and  his  cap  turned 
wrong  side  out,  then  he  passed  round  that  cap  —  just  as 
sober  —  much  as  we  could  do  to  keep  in  !  I  was  a  clerk 
and  had  a  real  handsome  mustache  done  under  my  nose 
with  a  piece  of  burnt  cork-stopple  burned  over  the  light. 
And  she  told  me  to  act  big,  like  a  clerk,  and  I  did. 

Mr.  Augustus  was  the  dandy,  and  if  he  did  n't  strut, 
but  he  struts  other  times  too,  but  more  then,  and  made  all 
of  us  laugh. 

Old  Wonder  Boy  was  the  boy  that  sold  candy,  and  he 
spoke  up  smart  and  quick,  just  as  she  told  him  to,  and  the 
teacher  was  the  country  feller  and  acted  just  as  funny, 
and  so  did  his  sister  ;  his  sister  was  the  shopping  woman. 
Both  of  them  like  to  play  with  boys,  and  they  're  grown 
up,  too.  Should  you  think  they  would  ?  And  they  like 
candy  same  as  we  do.  And  when  it  came  to  the  end,  just 
as  the  curtain  was  dropping  down,  we  all  took  hold  of  the 
rounds  of  our  chairs,  and  jerked  ourselves  all  of  a  sud- 
den up  in  a  heap  together,  and  groaned,  and  so  forth. 

T  wish  you  all  and  Aunt  Phebe's  folks  had  been  there. 
We  had  a  treat,  and  O,  if  't  was  n't  a  treat,  why,  I  '11 


138  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

agree  to  treat  myself.  Three  kinds  of  ice-creams  shaped 
up  into  pyramids  and  rabbits,  and  scalloped  cakes  and 
candy,  and  such  a  great  floating  island  in  a  platter !  — 
Dorry  said 't  was  a  floating  continent!  —  and  had  red 
jelly  round  the  platter's  edge,  and  some  of  that  red  jelly 
was  dipped  out  every  dip.  O,  if  he  is  n't  a  tiptop  teacher ! 
Dorry  says  we  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  ourselves  if  we 
have  missing  lessons,  or  cut  up  any  for  much  as  a  week, 
and  more  too,  I  say. 

And  so  I  can't  tell  any  more  now,  for  I  mean  to  study 
hard  if  I  possibly  can. 

Your  affectionate  grandson, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

Please  lend  it  to  Aunt  Phebe's  folks. 


CHAKADE.     (Carpet.) 

FIRST  SYLLABLE. 

Chairs  placed  in  two  rows,  to  represent  seats  of  cars.  Passengers  enter 
and  take  their  seats.  Placard  stuck  up,  "Beware  of  Pickpockets," 
in  capitals. 

first.  Enter  two  school-girls,  M.  and  A.,  with  books 
strapped  about,  lunch-box,  &c.  They  are  laughing  and 
chatting.  M.  gives  A.  a  letter  to  read.  A.  smiles  while 
reading  it,  M.  watching  her  face,  then  both  look  over  it 
together.  Afterwards,  study  their  lessons.  All  this  must 
be  going  on  while  the  other  passengers  are  entering. 

Second.  Business  man  and  two  clerks,  one  at  a  time. 
One  takes  out  little  account-book,  another  reads  paper, 
another  sits  quietly,  after  putting  ticket  in  his  hat-band. 

Third.  Fat  woman,  with  old-fashioned  carpet-bag,  um- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  139 

brella,  and  bundles  tied  up  in  handkerchiefs ;  seats  her- 
self with  difficulty. 

Fourth.  A  clergyman,  all  in  black,  very  solemn,  with 
white  neckcloth  and  spectacles. 

Fifth.  Yankee  fellow  from  the  country,  staring  at  all 
new-comers. 

Sixth.  Dandy,  with  yellow  gloves,  slender  cane,  stun- 
ning necktie,  watch-chain,  and  eyeglass  comes  in  with 
a  flourish,  lolls  back  in  his  seat,  using  his  eyeglass  fre- 
quently. 

Seventh.  Lady  with  infant  (very  large  rag-baby,  in 
cloak  and  sunbonnet)  and  nurse  girl.  Baby,  being  fussy, 
has  to  be  amused,  trotted,  changed  from  one  to  the  other. 
Lady  takes  things  from  her  pocket  to  please  it,  dancing 
them  up  and  down  before  its  face. 

JZighth.   Plainly  dressed,  industrious  woman,  who  knits. 

Ninth.  Fashionable  young  lady,  dressed  in  the  ex- 
treme of  fashion.  She  minces  up  the  aisle,  looks  at  the 
others,  seats  herself  apart  from  them,  first  brushing  the 
seat.  Shakes  the  dust  from  her  garments,  fans  herself, 
takes  out  smelling-bottle,  &c.  (Shout  is  heard.)  "  All 
aboard ! " 

Tenth.  In  a  hurry,  Lady  that 's  been  a-shopping,  lead- 
ing or  pulling  along  her  little  boy  or  girl.  She  carries  a 
waterproof  on  her  arm,  and  has  a  shopping-bag  and  all 
sorts  of  paper  parcels,  besides  a  portfolio,  a  roller  cart,  a 
wooden  horse  on  wheels,  a  drum,  a  toy-whip  (and  vari- 
ous other  things).  Doll's  heads  stick  out  of  a  paper. 
Lady  drops  a  package.  Dandy  picks  it  up  with  polite 
bow.  Drops  another.  Yankee  picks  it  up,  imitating 
Dandy's  polite  bow.  Gets  seated  at  last,  arranges  her 


140  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

bonnet-strings,  takes  off  the  child's  hat,  smooths  its  hair, 

&c. 

.    Steam-whistle   heard.     Every  passenger  now  begins 

the  jerking,   up-and-down  motion   peculiar  to   the  cars. 

This  motion  must  be  kept  up  by  all,  whatever  they  are 

doing,  and  by  every  one  who  enters. 

Enter  Conductor  with  an  immense  badge  on  his  hat,  or 
coat.  Calls  out  "  Have  your  tickets  ready  ! "  Then 
passes  along  the  aisle,  and  calls  out  again,  "  Tickets ! " 
The  tickets  must  be  large  and  absurd.  Passengers  take 
them  from  pocket-books,  gloves,  &c.  Fat  old  woman 
fumbles  long  for  hers  in  different  bundles,  finds  it  at  last 
in  a  huge  leather  pocket-book.  Conductor,  after  nipping 
the  tickets,  passes  out. 

Enter  boy  with  papers,  "  Mornin'  papers !  Herald, 
Journal,  Traveller!"  (Business  man  buys  one.) 
"Mornin'  papers !  Herald,  Journal,  Traveller !  "  (Clerk 
buys  one.)  Paper  boy  passes  out.  Conductor  appears, 
calls  out,  "  Warburton  !  Warburton  !  Passengers  for 
Bantam  change  cars  !  "  (Noise  heard  of  brakes,  jerking 
motion  ceases,  school-girls  leave,  with  those  little  hopping 
motions  peculiar  to  school-girls.  Yankee  moves  nearer 
fashionable  miss.  Two  laborers  enter.  Steam-whistle 
heard,  jerking  motion  resumed.)  Candy  boy  enters. 
"  Jessup's  candy  !  All  flavors  !  Five  cents  a  stick  !  " 
(Lady  buys  one  for  baby.)  "Jessup's  candy!  All  fla- 
vors! Lemon,  vanilla,  pineapple,  strorbry  ! "  (Yan- 
kee buys  one,  offers  half  to  fashionable  miss.  She  de- 
clines. Crunches  it  himself.)  Boy  passes  out. 

Enter  boy  with  picture-papers,  which  he  distributes. 
Some  examine  them,  others  let  them  lie.  (Dandy  buys 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  141 

one.)  Boy  collects  them  and  passes  out.  Enter  a  very 
little  ragged  boy,  with  fiddle,  or  accordion.  After  play- 
ing awhile,  passes  round  his  hat.  Most  of  the  passengers 
drop  something  in  it.  Exit  boy. 

Enter  Conductor.  "  Tickets ! "  Collects  tickets. 
(Steam-whistle  heard.)  Passengers  pick  up  their  things. 
Curtain  drops  just  as  the  last  one  goes  out.  (This  scene 
might  be  ended  by  the  passengers,  at  a  given  signal,  pull- 
ing their  seats  together,  pitching  over,  and  having  the  cur- 
tain fall  on  a  smash-up.) 

SECOND  SYLLABLE. 

LADY  in  morning-dress  and  jaunty  breakfast-cap,  sadly  leaning  her 
head  on  her  hand.  On  table  near  is  toast,  cfiocolate,  frc.  Enter 
MAGGIE  with  tray. 

Maggie.  Ate  a  bit,  mum,  ate  a  bit.  'T  will  cheer  ye 
up  like ! 

Lady  (looking  up).  No,  no,  I  cannot  eat.  O,  the 
precious  darling  !  It  is  now  seventeen  hours  since  I  saw 
him  last.  Ah,  he  's  lost ! 

Maggie.   And  did  ye  slape  at  arl,  mum  ? 

Lady.  Scarcely,  Maggie.  And  in  dreams  I  saw  my 
darling,  chased  by  rude  boys,  or  at  the  bottom  of  deep 
waters,  in  filthy  mud,  eaten  by  fishes,  or  else  mauled  by 
dreadful  cats.  Take  away  the  untasted  meal.  I  cannot, 
cannot  eat. 

Exit  MAGGIE  with  breakfast  things.     Enter  MIKE  with  newspapers. 

Mike.    Mornin'  paper,  mum. 

Lady  (catching  it,  and  looking  eagerly  ^^,p  and  down  its 
columns).  Let  me  see  if  he  is  found.  O,  here!  "Found! 


142  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

A  diamond  pin  on  —  "  Pshaw,  diamond  pin  !  Here  it 
is.  "  Dog  found  !  Black  and  tan  —  "  Faugh,  black 
and  tan  !  My  beauty  was  pure  white.  But,  Mike 
where's  the  notice  of  our  darling's  being  lost? 

Mike.  Shure,  an'  it  's  to  the  side  o'  the  house  I  put  it, 
mum,  arl  writ  in  illegant  sizey  litters,  mum. 

Lady  (in  alarm).  And  did  n't  you  go  to  the  printers 
at  all  ? 

Mike.  Shure  an'  be  n't  it  better  out  in  the  brard  day- 
light, mum,  laning  aginst  th'  'ouse  convanient  like,  an' 
aisy  to  see,  mum  ? 

Lady.   O  Mike,  you've  undone  me!     Quick!     Pen, 
ink,  and  paper.     Quick  !  I  say. 
Exit  MIKE. 

Lady  (solus).  It  was  but  yesterday  I  held  him  in  these 
arms  !  He  licked  my  face,  and  took  from  my  hand  the 
bits  of  chicken,  and  sipped  of  my  chocolate.  His  little 
black  eyes  looked  up,  O  so  brightly  !  to  mine.  His  little 
tail,  it  wagged  so  happy  !  O,  dear,  lovely  one,  where  are 
you  now  ? 

Enter  MIKE,  with  placard  on  long  stick,  with  these  words  in  very  large 
letters. 


Dog  Lost  !     V  Dollus  !    ReeWarD  !  InnQuire 

Withinn  !   Live  oR  DeD  !  !  !  J^ 
Reads  it  aloud,  very  slowly,  pointing  with  finger. 

Mike.   An'  it  's  meeself  lamed  the  fine  writin',  mum, 
in  th'  ould  counthry. 

Lady  (excited).    Pray  take  that  dreadful  thing  away, 
and  bring  me  pen  and  paper  ! 

Exit  MIKE,  mutterimj.     Knock  heard  at  door. 


THE   WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTEBS.  143 

Lady.   Come  ! 

Enter  MARKET-MAN,  in  blue  frock. 

Market-man.  Good  day,  ma'am.  Heard  you  'd  lost  a 
dog. 

Lady  (eagerly,  with  hand  extended).  Yes,  yes!  Where 
is  he  ? 

Market-man.   Was  he  a  curly,  shaggy  dog? 

Lady.    Yes  !  O  yes  !    Where  did  you  find  him  ? 

Market-man.  Was  your  dog  bright  and  playful  ? 

Lady  (in  an  excited  manner).    O,  very  !  very! 

Market-man.    Answered  to  the  name  of  Carlo  ? 

Lady.  Yes !  He  did !  he  did !  O,  if  I  had  him  in 
these  arms ! 

Market-man  (in  surprise).  Arms,  ma'am?  Arms? 
'T  is  a  Newfoundland  dog  !  He  could  carry  you  in  his 
arms ! 

Lady  (dejected).   0  cruel,  cruel  disappointment! 

Market-man.    What  kind  of  a  dog  was  yours  ? 

Ladg.  O,  a  dear  little  lapdog.  His  curls  were  white 
and  soft  as  silk ! 

Market-man  (going).  Good  day,  ma'am.  If  I  see  him, 
I '11  fetch  him. 

Exit  MARKET-MAN.    MIKE  enters  with  writing  materials,  and  goes  out 
again.     LADY  begins  to  write,  repeating  the  words  she  writes  aloud. 

Lady.  Lost,  strayed,  or  stolen.  A  curly  —  ( Tap  at 
door.)  Come ! 

Enter  stupid-looking  BOY,  in  scanty  jacket  and  trousers,  and  too  largt 

hat. 

Lady.    Did  you  wish  to  see  me  ? 
Boy  (drawling).     Yes,  ma'am. 
Lady.   About  a  dog  ? 
X 


144  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Boy.  Yes,  ma'am. 

Lady.   Have  you  found  one  ? 

Boy.   Yes,  ma'am. 

Lady.   Is  it  a  very  small  dog  ? 

Boy.   Yes,  ma'am. 

Lady.   Sweet  and  playful  ? 

Boy.    Yes,  ma'am  ? 

Lady.    Did  you  bring  him  with  you  ? 

Boy.   Yes,  ma'am  (pointing).     Out  there. 

Zaefy  (excited).  O,  bring  him  to  me.  Quick  !  0,  if 
it  should  be  he  !  If  it  should!  (BoY  brings  in  small 
dog,  yellow  or  black  or  spotted.) 

Lady  (in  disgust).  O,  not  that  horrid  creature  !  Take 
him  away  !  Take  him  away  ! 

Boy.    Is  n't  that  your  dog  ? 

Lady.  No !  no !  0,  can't  you  take  the  horrid  animal 
away  ? 

Boy  (going).    Yes,  ma'am. 

Exit  BOY  with  dog.     LADY  prepares  to  write. 
Lady.    Stupid    thing !     Now   I  '11    write.     (Repeats.) 

LOST,  STRATED,  OR  STOLEN.     A  CURLY,  WHITE  (  Tap 

at  the  door.)     Come  !     (Lays  down  pen.) 

Enter  ragged  BOY,  with  covered  basket. 

Lady.    Have  you  found  a  dog  ? 

Boy.   No,  I  hain't  found  no  dog. 

Lady.    Then  what  do  you  want  ? 

Boy.  Father  sells  puppies.  Father  said  if  you'd  lost 
your  dog,  you'd  want  to  buy  one  of  'em.  Said  you  could 
take  your  pick  out  o'  these  'ere  five.  (  Opens  basket  for 
her  to  look  in.) 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  145 

Lady  (shuddering).  Little  wretches !  Away  with 
them! 

Soy.  They  '11  grow,  father  said,  high  's  the  table. 

Lady.    Carry  them  off',  can't  you  ? 

Boy.  Father  wants  to  know  what  you  '11  take  for  your 
dog,  running.  Father  said  he  'd  give  a  dollar,  an'  risk 
the  ketchin'  on  him. 

Lady.  Dollar  ?  No.  Not  if  he  were  dead  !  Not  if  I 
knew  he  were  drowned,  and  the  fishes  had  eaten  him, 
would  I  sell  my  darling  pet  for  a  paltry  dollar ! 

Boy  (going).    Good  mornin'.     Guess  I  '11  be  goin'.     If 
I  find  your  dog,  I  won't  (aside)  let  you  know. 
Exit  BOY,  with  bow  and  scrape. 

Lady  (writes  again,  and  repeats).  LOST,  STRAYED,  on 
STOLEN.  A  CUR  —  (Knock  at  the  door.)  Come ! 
(Lays  down  pen.) 

Enter  MRS.  MULLIGAN. 

Mrs.  Mulligan.    An'  is  it  yourself  lost  a  dog,  thin  ? 

Lady  (eagerly).  Yes.  A  small,  white,  curly,  silky 
dog.  Have  you  seen  him  ? 

Mrs.  Mulligan.  Och,  no.  But  't  was  barkin'  all  night 
he  was,  behint  th'  'ouse.  An'  the  b'ys,  —  that 's  me  Pat 
an'  Tim,  they  drooned  him,  mum,  bad  luck  to  'em,  in  the 
mornin'  arly. 

Lady.    And  did  you  see  him  ? 

Mrs.  Mulligan.    No,  shure. 

Lady.     And  where  is  he  now  ? 

Mrs.  Mulligan.  O,  it 's  safe  he  is,  Pat  tould  me,  to 
the  bottom  o'  No  Bottom  Pond,  mum. 

Lady.    And  how  do  you  know  't  is  my  dog  ? 

Mrs.  Mulligan.  Faith,  an'  whose  dog  should  it  be,  thin? 

X  "» 


146  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

Lady.    Send  your  boys,  and  I  '11  speak  with  them. 
Mrs.  Mulligan  (going).    I  '11  send  them,  mum.    Morn- 
in'  mum. 

Exit  MRS.  MULLIGAN.     Another  tap  at  the  door. 
Lady.    O,  this  is  not  to  be  borne  !     Come  ! 
Enter  COUNTRYWOMAN  with  band-box,  —  not  an  old  woman. 

Lady  (earnestly).  If  it 's  about  a  dog,  tell  me  all  you 
know  at  once  !  Is  he  living  ? 

Countrywoman.  Yes  'm,  but  he  's  quite  poorly.  I  think 
dogs  shows  their  sickness,  same  as  human  creturs  do. 
Course  they  have  their  feelin's. 

Lady.    Do  tell  quick. 

Countrywoman.  Just  what  I  want,  for  I  'm  in  a  hurry 
myself.  So  I '11  jump  right  inter  the  thick  on 't.  You 
see  last  night  when  my  old  man  was  ridin'  out  o'  town  in 
his  cart,  with  some  o'  his  cabbages  left  over,  for  garden 
earse  had  n't  been  very  brisk  all  day,  and  he  was  late  a 
comin'  out  on  account  o'  the  off  ox  bein'  some  lame,  and 
my  old  man  ain't  apt  to  hurry  his  critters,  for  a  marciful 
man  is  marciful  to  his  beasts,  you  — 

Lady.    But  about  the  dog  ! 

Countrywoman.  Wai,  the  old  man  was  a  ridin'  along, 
slow,  you  know, —  I  alwers  tell  him  he'll  never  set  the 
great  pond  afire,  —  and  a  countin'  over  his  cabbage-heads 
and  settlin'  the  keg  o'  molasses  amongst  'em,  and  a  little 
jug  of —  (nods  and  winks  and  smiles),  — jest  for  a  med- 
icine, you  know.  For  we  never  do,  —  I  nor  the  old  man, 
—  never,  'xcept  in  case  o'  sickness. 

Lady  (impatiently).    But  what  about  the  dog? 

Countrywoman.    Wai,  he  was  a  ridin'  along,  and  jest 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  147 

got  to  the  outskirts  o'  the  town,  when  he  happened  to  see 
two  boys  a  squabblin'  which  should  have  a  dog,  —  a  little 
teenty  white  curly  mite  of  a  cretur  — 

Lady,     Yes  !     Go  on  !  Go  on  ! 

Countrywoman.  And  he  asked  'em  would  they  take 
fifty  cents  apiece  and  give  it  up.  For  he  knew  't  would 
be  rewarded  in  the  newspapers.  And  they  took  the  fifty. 

Lady  (eagerly}.  And  what  did  he  do  with  him  ? 
Where  is  he  now  ? 

Countrywoman.  Why,  I  was  goin'  to  ride  in  with  the 
old  man  this  mornin'  to  have  my  bunnet  new  done  over, 
and  I  took  the  dog  along.  And  we  happened  to  see  that 
'ere  notice,  and  he  and  I  together,  we  spelt  it  out ! 
(  Opening  bandbox.)  Now  look  in  here  !  Snug  as  a  bug, 
right  in  the  crown  o'  my  bunnet.  Seems  poorly,  but 
he  '11  pick  up.  (Takes  out  a  white  lapdog.)* 

Lady  (snatches  him,  and  hugs  and  kisses  him.)  'T  is 
my  Carlo.  O  my  precious,  precious  pet !  Ah,  he  is 
too  weak  to  move.  I  must  feed  him  and  put  him  to 
sleep.  (Rises  to  go  out.) 

Countrywoman.     But  the  five  dollars,  marm ! 

Lady.  0,  you  must  call  again.  I  can't  think  of  any 
paltry  five  dollars,  now.  (Exit.) 

Countrywoman  (calling  out).     I  '11  wait,  marm ! 
Enter  MIKE. 

Mike.     An'  what  bisness  are  ye  doin'  here  ? 

Countrywoman.     Waiting  for  my  pay. 

Mike.  Pay,  is  it  ?  Och,  she  '11  niver  pay  the  day. 
She  's  owin'  me  wages,  an'  owin'  the  cook,  and  Mrs. 

*  A  white  lapdog  may  be  easily  made  of  wool  and  wire. 


148  THE  WILLIAM  HtNfcY  LETTERS. 

Flarty  that  scoors,  and  the  millinery  lady,  an'  't  is  "  Car) 
agin,"  she  sez.     "  Carl  agin.     Can't  ye  carl  agin  ?  " 

Countrywoman.  Then  I  '11  get  mine  now.  (  Takes  off" 
shawl,  and  sits  down.  Takes  out  long  blue  stocking,  and 
goes  to  knitting,  first  pinning  on  her  knitting-sheath.  I 
don't  budge,  without  the  pay. 

MIKE  looks  on  admirinyly.     Curtain  drops. 

WHOLE  WORD. 

CLERK  standing  behind  counter,  with  shawls  and  various  dry  goods  to 
sell.  Also  rolls  or  pieces  of  carpet,  oil  and  other  kinds.  Various 
placards  on  the  walls,  —  "  No  credit."  "  Goods  marked  down  1 " 
frc.  Enter  OLD  WOMAN. 

Old  Woman  (speaking  in  rather  high  key).  Do  you 
keep  stockings  ? 

Clerk  (handing  box  of  stockings).  O  yes.  Here  are 
some,  very  good  quality. 

Old  Woman  (examining  them).  Mighty  thin,  the*** 
be. 

Clerk.     I  assure  you,  they  are  warranted  to  wear. 

Old  Woman.     To  wear  out,  I  guess. 

Enter  YOUNG  MARRIED  COUPLE. 

Clerk.  Good  morning.  Can  we  sell  you  anything  to- 
day ? 

Wife  (modestly).  We  wish  to  look  at  a  few  of  you* 
carpets. 

Clerk.     This  way,  ma'am. 

Husband.  Hem !  ( Clearing  his  throat?)  We  will 
look  at  something  for  parlors. 

Clerk.  Here  is  a  style  very  much  admired.  (  Unrolls 
carpet.)  Elegant  pattern.  We  import  all  our  goods, 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRf  JITTERS.  149 

ma'am.     That 's  a  firm  piece  of  goods.     You  could  n't  do 
better.     We  warrant  it  to  wear.     All  fast  colors. 

Old  Woman  (coming  near).  A  good  rag  carpet  '11 
wear  out  two  o'  that. 

Wife  (to  Husband).  I  think  it  is  a  lovely  pattern. 
Don't  you  like  it,  Charley  ? 

Husband.  Hem  —  well,  I  have  seen  prettier.  But 
then,  't  is  just  as  you  say,  dear. 

Wife.  O  no,  Charley.  'T  is  just  as  you  say.  I 
want  to  please  you,  dear. 

Old  Woman  (to  Clerk).  Have  you  got  any  crash  tow- 
elling ? 

Husband.     What 's  the  price  of  this  carpet  ? 

Clerk.  Three  dollars  a  yard.  Here 's  another  style 
(unrolls  another)  just  brought  in.  (Attends  to  Old 
Woman.) 

Husband  (speaking  to  Wife).  Perhaps  we'd  better 
look  at  the  other  articles  you  wanted.  (They  go  to  an- 
other part  of  the  store,  examining  articles.) 

Enter  a  spare,  thin  WOMAN,  in  plain  dress  and  green  veii 

Clerk.     Can  we  sell  you  anything  to-day  ? 

Woman.     I  was  thinking  of  buying  a  carpet. 

Clerk.  Step  this  way,  ma'am.  (Shows  them.)  W<" 
have  all  styles,  ma'am. 

Woman.     I  want  one  that  will  last.     (Examining  it.) 

Clerk  (taking  hold  of  it).  Firm  as  iron,  ma'am.  We've 
sold  five  hundred  pieces  of  that  goods.  If  it  don't  wear, 
we  '11  agree  to  pay  back  the  money. 

Woman.     1  want  one  that  won't  show  dirt. 

Clerk.  Warranted  not  to  show  dirt,  ma'am.  We 
warrant  all  our  goods. 


150  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Woman.     Can  it  be  turned  ? 

Ckrk.  Perfectly  well,  ma'am.  'T  will  turn  as  long  as 
there  's  a  bit  of  it  left. 

Woman.     What  do  you  ask  ? 

Clerk.  Well,  we  have  been  selling  that  piece  of  goods 
for  three  fifty,  but  you  may  have  it  for  three  dollars. 

Woman.     Could  n't  you  take  less  ? 

Clerk.  Could  n't  take  a  cent  less.  Cost  more  by 
wholesale. 

Woman.     I  think  I  '11  look  further.     (  Going.) 

Clerk.  Well,  now  seeing  it 's  the  last  piece,  you  may 
have  it  for  two  fifty. 

Woman.  I  was  n't  expecting  to  give  over  two  dollars 
a  yard.  (  Going.) 

Clerk.  Now  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do.  Say  two  and 
a  quarter,  and  take  it. 

Woman.  I  have  decided  not  to  go  over  two  dollars. 
(  Going.) 

Clerk  (crossly).  Well.  You  can  have  it  for  that.  But 
we  lose  on  it.  In  fact,  we  are  selling  now  to  keep  the 
trade,  nothing  else.  Twenty-five  yards  ?  I  '11  measure 
it  directly. 

Old  Woman.     Have  you  got  any  cotton  flannel  ? 

Enter  FASHIONABLE  LADY. 

Clerk  (all  attention,  bowing).  Good  morning,  madam. 
Can  we  sell  you  anything  to-day  ? 

Fashionable  Lady.  I  am  looking  at  carpets  this  morn- 
ing. Have  you  anything  new  ? 

Clerk.  This  way,  madam.  We  have  several  new  lots, 
just  imported.  (Shows  one.) 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  151 

Fashionable  Lady.  It  must  light  up  well,  or  it  will 
never  suit  me. 

Clerk.     Lights  up  beautifully,  madam. 

Fashionable  Lady.     Is  this  real  tapestry  ? 

Clerk.  O,  certainly,  madam.  We  should  n't  thin  of 
showing  you  any  other. 

Fashionable  Lady.     What 's  the  price  ? 

Clerk.  Well,  this  is  a  Persian  pattern,  and  we  can't 
offer  it  for  less  than  six  dollars.  Mrs.  Topothetree 
bought  one  off  the  same  piece. 

Fashionable  Lady.  'T  is  a  lovely  thing,  and  when  a 
carpet  suits  me,  the  price  is  no  objection. 

Old  Woman  (coming  forward).  Have  you  got  any 
remnants  ?  I  wanted  to  get  a  strip  to  lay  down  afore 
the  fire.  (Speaking  to  Lady.)  Goin'  to  give  six  dollars 
a  yard  for  that  ?  Guess  you  better  larn  how  to  make  a 
rag  carpet.  Fust,  take  your  old  coats  and  trousers,  and 
strip  'em  up  inter  narrer  strips,  and  jine  the  strips  to- 
gether, and  wind  all  that  up  in  great  balls.  That 's 
your  warp.  Then  take  coarse  yarn  and  color  it  all 
colors.  That 's  your  fillin'.  Then  hire  your  carpet 
wove,  and  that  carpet  '11  last. 

Enter  POLICEMAN  and  a  GENTLEMAN. 

Gentleman  (pointing  to  Fashionable  Lady).  That  is 
the  person. 

Policeman  (placing  his  hand  on  her  shoulder).  This 
gentleman,  madam,  thinks  you  have  —  borrowed  a  quan- 
tity of  his  lace  goods. 

Fashionable  Lady  (with  air  of  astonishment).  I?  Im- 
possible !  Impossible,  sir ! 


152  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Gentleman.  I  am  sure  of  it. 

Policeman.  Will  you  have  the  goodness,  madam,  to 
come  with  us  ? 

Curtain  drops,  while  all  are  gazing  at  each  other  in  amazement. 

I  procured  a  copy  of  the  above  charade  for  little  Silas. 
There  was  a  sociable,  one  evening,  at  his  school,  got  up  for 
the  purpose  of  raising  money  to  buy  a  melodeon,  or  a  sera- 
phine,  1  don't  know  which.  I  never  do  know  which  is  a 
melodeon  and  which  is  a  seraphine.  I  have  an  idea  the 
first  sounds  more  melodious. 

They  wanted  a  charade  to  act,  and  I  sent  them  this  of  Wil- 
liam Henry's.  Silas  took  the  character  of  the  fellow  from  the 
country.  They  liked  the  charade  very  much.  The  brake- 
man  had  the  forward  wheels  of  a  baby  carriage  for  his  brakes. 
Of  course  only  one  of  the  wheels  was  seen,  and  he  made  a 
great  ado  turning  it. 

At  the  end  the  cars  ran  off  the  track,  and  the  curtain  fell 
upon  a  general  smash-up. 

William  Henry  to  his  Grandmother. 

DEAR  GRANDMOTHER,  — 

The  puddles  bear  in  the  morning  and  next  thing  the 
pond  will,  and  I  want  to  have  my  skates  here  all  ready. 
'Most  all  the  boys  have  got  all  theirs  already,  waiting 
for  it  to  freeze.  They  hang  up  on  that  beam  in  the  sink- 
room  chamber.  Look  under  my  trainer  trousers  that  I 
had  to  play  trainer  in  when  I 's  a  little  chap,  on  that 
great  wooden  peg,  and  you  '11  find  'em  hanging  up  under 
the  trousers.  And  my  sled  too,  for  Dorry  and  I  are 
going  to  have  double-runner  together  soon  as  snow 
comes.  It 's  down  cellar.  We  went  to  be  weighed,  and 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  153 

the  man  said  I  was  built  of  solid  timber.  Dorry  he  hid 
some  great  iron  dumb-bells  in  his  pockets  for  fun,  and 
the  man  first  he  looked  at  Dorry  and  then  at  the  figures, 
and  then  at  his  weights;  he  didn't  know  what  to  make 
of  it.  For  I  've  grown  so  much  faster  that  we  're  almost 
of  a  size. 

First  of  it  Dorry  kept  a  sober  face,  but  pretty  soon  he 
began  to  laugh,  and  took  the  dumb-bells  out,  and  then 
weighed  over,  and  guess  what  we  weighed  ? 

The  fellers  call  us  "  Dorry  &  Co.,"  because  we  keep 
together  so  much.  When  he  goes  anywhere  he  says 
"  Come,  Sweet  William ! "  and  when  I  go  anywhere  I 
say  "  Come,  Old  Dorrymas  !  "  There  's  a  flower  named 
Sweet  William.  There  is  n't  any  fish  named  Dorrymas, 
but  there  's  one  named  Gurrymas.  We  keep  our  goodies 
in  the  same  box,  and  so  we  do  our  pencils  and  the  rest 
of  our  traps.  His  bed  is  'most  close  to  mine,  and  the 
one  that  wakes  up  first  pulls  the  other  one's  hair.  One 
boy  that  comes  here  is  a  funny-looking  chap,  and  wears 
cinnamon-colored  clothes,  all  faded  out.  He  is  n't  a  very 
big  feller.  He  has  his  clothes  given  to  him.  He  comes 
days  and  go^s  home  nights,  for  he  lives  in  this  town. 
He  's  got  great  eyes  and  a  great  mouth,  and  always  looks 
as  if  he  was  just  a-going  to  laugh.  Sometimes  when  the 
boys  go  by  him  they  make  a  noise,  sniff,  sniff,  sniff,  with 
their  noses,  making  believe  they  smelt  something  spicy, 
like  cinnamon.  I  hope  you  '11  find  my  skates,  and  send 
'em  right  off,  for  fear  the  pond  might  freeze  over.  They 
hang  on  that  great  wooden  peg  in  the  sink-room  cham- 
ber, that  sticks  in  where  two  beams  come  together,  under 
my  trainer  trousers ;  you  '11  see  the  red  stripes. 
7* 


154  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

Some  of  us  have  paid  a  quarter  apiece  to  get  a  foot- 
ball, and  should  n't  you  think  't  was  real  mean  for  any- 
body to  back  out,  and  then  come  to  kick  ?  One  feller 
did.  And  he  was  one  of  the  first  ones  to  get  it  up  too. 
"  Let 's  get  up  a  good  one  while  we  're  about  it,"  says  he, 
"  that  won't  kick  right  out."  Dorry  went  to  pick  it  out, 
and  took  his  own  money,  and  all  the  rest  paid  in  their 
quarters,  and  what  was  over  the  price  we  took  in  pea- 
nuts. O,  you  ought  to  've  seen  that  bag  of  peanuts ! 
Held  about  half  a  bushel.  When  he  found  the  boys 
were  talking  about  him  he  told  somebody  that  when  any- 
body said,  "  Let 's  get  up  something,"  it  was  n't  just  the 
same  as  to  say  he  'd  pay  part.  But  we  say  't  is.  And 
we  talked  about  it  down  to  the  Two  Betseys'  shop,  and 
Lame  Betsey  said  't  was  mean  doings  enough,  and  The 
Other  Betsey  said,  "  Anybody  that  won't  pay  their  part, 
I  don't  care  who  they  be."  And  I  've  seen  him  eating 
taffy  three  times  and  more,  too,  since  then,  and  figs. 
And  he  comes  and  kicks  sometimes,  and  when  tliey 
offered  some  of  the  peanuts  to  him,  to  see  if  he  'd  take 
any,  he  took  some. 

Now  Spicey  won't  do  that.  We  said  he  might  kick, 
but  he  don't  want  to,  not  till  he  gets  his  quarter.  He  's 
going  to  earn  it.  If  my  skates  don't  hang  up  on  that 
wooden  peg,  like  enough  Aunt  Phebe's  little  Tommy  's 
been  fooling  with  'em.  Once  he  did,  and  they  fell  through 
that  hole  where  a  piece  of  the  floor  is  broke  out.  You  'd 
better  look  down  that  hole.  I  'm  going  to  send  home  my 
Report  next  time.  I  could  n't  get  perfect  every  time. 
Dorry  says  if  a  feller  did  that,  he  'd  know  too  much  to 
come  to  school.  But  there  's  some  tluvt  do.  Not  very 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  155 

many.  Spicey  did  four  days  running.  I  could  'a  got 
more  perfects,  only  one  time  I  did  n't  know  how  far  to 
get,  and  another  time  I  did  n't  hear  what  the  question 
was  he  put  out  to  me,  and  another  time  I  did  n't  stop  to 
think  and  answered  wrong  when  I  knew  just  as  well  as 
could  be.  And  another  time  I  missed  in  the  rules.  You 
better  believe  they  are  hard  things  to  get.  Bubby  Short 
says  he  wishes  they  'd  take  out  the  rules  and  let  us  do 
our  sums  in  peace,  and  so  I  say.  And  then  one  more 
time  some  people  came  to  visit  the  school,  and  they 
looked  right  in  my  face,  when  the  question  came  to  me, 
and  put  me  out.  I  should  n't  think  visitors  would  look  a 
feller  right  in  the  face,  when  he  's  trying  to  tell  some- 
thing. Dorry  says  that  I  blushed  up  as  red  as  fire-coals. 
I  guess  a  red-header  blushes  up  redder  than  any  other 
kind ;  don't  you  ?  I  had  some  taken  off  my  Deport- 
ment, because  I  laughed  out  loud.  I  did  n't  mean  to, 
but  I  'm  easy  to  laugh.  But  Dorry  he  can  keep  a  sober 
face  just  when  he  wants  to,  and  so  can  Bubby  Short.  I 
was  laughing  at  Bubby  Short.  He  was  snapping  apple- 
seeds  at  Old  Wonder  Boy's  cheeks,  and  he  could  n't  tell 
who  snapped  'em,  for  Bubby  Short  would  be  studying 
away,  just  as  sober.  At  last  one  hit  hard,  and  W.  B. 
jumped  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  wrong  feller,  and  I  felt 
a  laugh  coming,  and  puckered  my  mouth  up,  and  twisted 
round,  but  first  thing  I  knew,  out  it  came,  just  as  sudden, 
and  that  took  off  some. 

I  shall  keep  the  Report  till  next  time,  because  this 
time  I  'm  going  to  send  mine  and  Dorry's  photographs 
taken  together.  We  both  paid  half.  We  got  it  taken 
in  a  saloon  that  travels  about  on  wheels.  'T  is  stopping 


156  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

here  now.  Course  we  did  n't  expect  to  look  very  hand- 
some. But  the  man  says  't  is  wonderful  what  handsome 
pictures  homely  folks  expect  to  make.  Says  he  tells 
'em  he  has  to  take  what 's  before  him.  Dorry  says  he  's 
sure  we  look  very  well  for  the  first  time  taking.  Says 
it  needs  practice  to  make  a  handsome  picture.  Please 
send  it  back  soon  because  he  wants  to  let  his  folks  see  it. 
Send  it  when  you  send  the  skates.  Send  the  skates  soon 
as  you  can,  for  fear  the  pond  might  freeze  over.  Aunt 
Phebe's  little  Tommy  can  have  my  old  sharp-shooter  for 
his  own,  if  he  wants  it.  Remember  me  to  my  sister. 
Your  affectionate  Grandson, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

As  the  photograph  above  mentioned  had  altogether  too 
serious  an  expression,  a  younger  one  was  used  in  drawing  the 
picture  for  the  frontispiece.  Neither  of  the  three  do  him  jus- 
tice, as  neither  of  the  three  can  give  his  merry  laugh. 

Grandmother  to  William  Henry. 

MY  DEAR  BOY,  — 

Your  father  and  all  of  us  were  very  glad  to  see  that 
photograph,  for  it  seemed  next  thing  to  seeing  you,  you 
dear  child  We  could  n't  bear  to  send  it  away  so  soon. 
I  kept  it  on  the  mantel-piece,  with  my  spectacles  close 
by,  so  that  when  I  went  past  it  I  could  take  a  look. 
We  sent  word  in  to  your  aunt  Phebe  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes little  Tommy  came  running  across  and  said  his 
"  muzzer  said  he  must  bwing  Billy's  Pokerdaff  in,  wight 
off."  But  I  told  him  to  tell  his  muzzer  that  Billy's  Pok- 
erdaff  must  be  sent  back  very  soon,  and  was  n't  going 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  157 

out  of  my  sight  a  minute  while  it  stayed,  and  they  must 
come  in.  And  they  did.  We  all  think  't  is  a  very  nat- 
ural picture,  only  too  sober.  You  ought  to  try  to  look 
smiling  at  such  times.  I  wish  you  'd  had  somebody  to 
pull  down  your  jacket,  and  see  to  your  collar's  being 
even.  But  Aunt  Phebe  says  't  is  a  wonder  you  look  as 
well  as  you  do,  with  no  woman  to  fix  you.  I  should 
know  Dorry's  picture  anywhere.  Uncle  Jacob  wants  to 
know  what  you  were  both  so  cross  about  ?  Says  you 
look  as  if  you  'd  go  to  fighting  the  minute  you  got  up. 

Little  Tommy  is  tickled  enough  with  that  sled,  and 
keeps  looking  up  in  the  sky  to  see  when  snow  is  coming 
down,  and  drags  it  about  on  the  bare  ground,  if  we  don't 
watch  him. 

I  had  almost  a  good  mind  to  keep  the  skates  at  home. 
Boys  are  so  venturesome.  They  always  think  there  'a 
no  danger.  I  said  to  your  father,  "  Now  if  anything 
should  happen  to  Billy  I  should  wish  we  'd  never  sent 
them."  But  he  's  always  afraid  I  shall  make  a  Miss 
Nancy  of  you.  Now  I  don't  want  to  do  that.  But 
there  's  reason  in  all  things.  And  a  boy  need  n't  drown 
himself  to  keep  from  being  a  Miss  Nancy.  He  thinks 
you  Ve  got  sense  enough  not  to  skate  on  thin  ice,  and 
says  the  teachers  won't  allow  you  to  skate  if  the  pond 
is  n't  safe.  But  I  don't  have  faith  in  any  pond  being 
safe.  My  dear  boy,  there  's  danger  even  if  the  ther- 
mometer is  below  zero.  There  may  be  spring-holes. 
Never  was  a  boy  got  drowned  yet  skating,  but  what 
thought  there  was  no  danger.  Do  be  careful.  I  know 
you  would  if  you  only  knew  how  I  keep  awake  nights 
worrying  about  you. 


158  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

Anybody  would  think  that  your  uncle  Jacob  had  more 
money  than  he  knew  how  to  spend.  He  went  to  the 
city  last  week,  and  brought  Georgiana  home  a  pair  of 
light  blue  French  kid  boots.  He  won't  tell  the  price. 
They  are  high-heeled,  very  narrow-soled,  and  come  up 
high.  He  saw  them  in  the  window  of  one  of  the  grand 
stores,  and  thought  he  'd  just  step  in  and  buy  them  for 
Georgie.  Never  thought  of  their  coming  so  high.  I  'm 
speaking  of  the  price.  Now  Georgie  does  n't  go  to  par- 
ties, and  where  the  child  can  wear  them,  going  through 
thick  and  thin,  is  a  puzzler.  She  might  to  meeting,  if 
she  could  be  lifted  out  of  the  wagon  and  set  down  in 
the  broad  aisle,  but  Lucy  Maria  says  that  won't  do,  be- 
cause her  meeting  dress  is  cherry-color.  Next  summer 
I  shall  get  her  a  light  blue  barege  dress  to  match  'em, 
for  the  sake  of  pleasing  her  uncle  Jacob.  When  he 
heard  us  talking  about  her  not  going  anywhere  to  wear 
such  fancy  boots,  he  said  then  she  should  wear  them  over 
to  his  house.  So  twice  he  has  sent  a  billet  in  the  morn- 
ing, inviting  her  to  come  and  take  tea,  and  at  the  bottom 
he  writes,  [^"'  Company  expected  to  appear  in  blue 
boots^'JIgl  So  I  dress  her  up  in  her  red  dress,  and  the 
boots,  and  draw  my  plush  moccasins  over  them,  and  pack 
her  off.  Uncle  Jacob  takes  her  things,  and  waits  upon 
her  to  the  table,  and  they  have  great  fun  out  of  it. 

My  dear  Billy,  I  have  been  thinking  about  that  boy 
that  wears  cinnamon-colored  clothes.  I  do  really  hope 
you  won't  be  so  cruel  as  to  laugh  at  a  boy  on  account  of 
his  clothes.  What  a  boy  is,  don't  depend  upon  what  he 
wears  on  his  back,  but  upon  what  he  has  inside  of  his 
head  and  his  heart.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  and  went 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  159 

to  school  in  the  old  school-house,  the  Committee  used  to 
come,  sometimes,  to  visit  the  school.  One  of  the  Com- 
mittee was  the  minister.  He  was  a  very  fine  old  gentle- 
man, and  a  great  deal  thought  of  by  the  whole  town. 
He  used  to  wear  a  ruffled  shirt,  and  a  watch  with  a 
bunch  of  seals,  and  carry  a  gold-headed  cane.  He  had 
white  hair,  and  a  mild  blue  eye,  and  a  pleasant  smile, 
that  I  have  n't  forgotten  yet,  though  't  was  a  great  many 
years  ago.  After  we  'd  read  and  spelt,  and  the  writing- 
books  and  ciphering-books  had  been  passed  round,  the 
teacher  always  asked  him  to  address  the  school.  And 
there  was  one  thing  he  used  to  say,  almost  every  time. 
And  he  said  it  in  such  a  smiling,  pleasanfc  way,  that  I  've 
remembered  it  ever  since.  He  used  to  begin  in  this 
way. 

"  I  love  little  children.  I  love  to  come  where  they  are. 
I  love  to  hear  them  laugh,  and  shout.  I  love  to  watch 
them  while  they  are  at  play.  And  because  I  love  them 
so  well,  I  don't  want  there  should  be  anything  bad  about 
them.  Just  as  when  I  watch  a  rosebud  blooming ;  —  I 
should  be  very  sorry  not  to  have  it  bloom  out  into  a  beau- 
tiful, perfect  rose.  And  now,  children,  there  are  three 
words  I  want  you  all  to  remember.  Only  three.  You 
can  remember  three  words,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  we  would  say. 

"  Well,  now,  how  long  can  you  remember  them  ?  "  he 
would  ask,  —  "a  week  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir  " 

"  Two  weeks  ?  " 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  A  month  ?  " 


160  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  A  year  ?  " 

"  Guess  so." 

«  All  your  lives  ?  " 

Then  some  would  say,  "  Yes,  sir,"  and  some  would  say 
they  guessed  not,  and  some  did  n't  believe  they  could, 
and  some  knew  they  could  n't. 

"  Well,  children,"  he  would  say  at  last,  "  now  I  will 
tell  you  what  the  three  words  are  :  Treat  —  everybody 

—  well.     Now  what  I  want  you  to  be  surest  to  remem- 
ber is  '  everybody.'     Everybody  is  a  word  that  takes  in 
a  great  many  people,  and  a  great  many  kinds  of  people, 

—  takes  in  the  washer-women  and  the  old  man  that  saws 
wood,  and  the  colored  folks  that  come  round  selling  bas- 
kets, and  the  people  that  wear  second-hand  clothes,  and 
the  help  in  the  kitchen, —  takes  in  those  we  don't  like 
and  even  t;ie  ones  that  have  done  us  harm.     '  Treat  — 
everybody  —  well.'     For  you  can  afford  to.     A  pleasant 
word  don't  cost  anything  to  give,  and  is  a  very  pleasant 
thing  to  take." 

The  old  gentleman  used  to  look  so  smiling  while  he 
talked.  And  he  followed  out  his  own  rule.  For  he  was 
just  as  polite  to  the  poor  woman  that  cam-  fo  clean  their 
paint  as  he  was  to  any  fine  lady.  He  wanted  to  make  us 
feel  ashamed  of  being  impolite  to  people  who  could  n't 
wear  good  clothes.  Children  and  grown  people  too,  he 
said,  were  apt  to  treat  the  ones  best  that  wore  the  best 
clothes.  He  'd  seen  children,  and  grown  folks  too,  who 
would  be  all  smiles  and  politeness  to  the  company,  and 
then  be  ugly  and  snappish  to  poor  people  they  'd  hired  to 
work  for  them.  A  real  lady  or  gentleman,  —  he  used  to 


THE   WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  161 

end  off  with  this,  —  "A  real  lady,  and  a  real  gentleman 
will  —  treat  —  everybody  —  well."  And  I  will  end  off 
with  this  too.  And  don't  you  ever  forget  it.  For  that 
you  may  be,  my  dear  boy,  a  true  gentleman  is  the  wish  of 
Your  loving  Grandmother. 

P.  S.  Do  be  careful  when  you  go  a  skating.  If  the 
ice  is  ever  so  thick,  there  may  be  spring-holes.  Your 
father  wants  you  to  have  a  copy  of  that  picture  taken  for 
us  to  keep,  and  sends  this  money  to  pay  for  it.  I  forgot 
to  say  that  of  course  it  is  mean  for  a  boy  not  to  pay  his 
part.  And  for  a  boy  not  to  pay  his  debts  is  mean,  and 
next  kin  to  stealing.  And  the  smaller  the  debts  are  the 
meaner  it  is.  We  are  all  waiting  for  your  Report. 

I  did  not  think  it  at  all  strange  that  Uncle  Jacob  should  buy 
the  blue  boots.  It  is  just  what  I  would  like  to  do  myself.  1 
never  go  past  one  of  those  wonderful  shoe-store  windows,  and 
look  at  the  bright  array  of  blue,  yellow,  and  red,  without  wish- 
ing I  had  six  little  gHs,  with  six  little  pairs  of  feet.  For  then 
I  should  have  half  a  dozen  excuses  to  go  in  and  buy,  and  now 
I  have  n't  one. 

Georgie's  boots  looked  pretty,  with  the  nice  white  stockings 
her  grandmother  knit.  And  I  could  n't  see  any  harm  in  her 
wearing  a  red  dress  with  them.  The  red,  white,  and  blue 
are  the  best  colors  in  the  world  for  me,  and  I  '11  never  turn 
against  them  ! 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  Red,  White,  and  Blue  !  " 

William  Henry  to  his  Grandmother. 
MY  DKAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

Excuse  me  for  not  writing  before.  Here  is  my  Re- 
port. I  have  n't  sniffed  my  nose  up  any  at  Spieey.  I  '11 


162  THE   WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

tell  you  why.  Because  I  remember  when  I  first  came,  and 
had  a  red  head,  and  how  bad  't  was  to  be  plagued  all  the 
time.  But  I  tell  you  if  he  is  n't  a  queer-looking  chap! 
Don't  talk  any,  hardly,  but  he 's  great  for  laughing. 
Bubby  Short  says  his  mouth  laughs  itself.  But  not  out 
loud.  Dorry  says  't  is  a  very  wide  smile.  It  comes  easy 
to  him,  any  way.  He  comes  in  laughing  and  goes  out 
laughing.  When  you  mee't  him  he  laughs,  and  when  you 
speak  to  him  he  laughs.  When  he  don't  know  the  an- 
swer he  laughs,  and  when  he  says  right  he  laughs,  and 
when  you  give  him  anything  he  laughs,  and  when  he 
gives  you  anything  he  laughs.  Though  he  don't  have 
very  much  to  give.  But  he  can't  say  no.  All  the  boys 
tried  one  day  to  see  if  they  could  make  him  say  no.  He 
had  an  apple,  and  they  went  up  to  him,  one  at  once,  and 
said,  "  Give  me  a  taste."  "  Give  me  a  taste,"  till  't  was 
every  bit  tasted  away  Then  they  tried  him  on  slate- 
pencils,  —  his  had  bully  points  to  them,  —  and  he  gave 
every  one  away,  all  but  one  old  stump.  But  afterwards 
Mr.  Augustus  said  't  was  a  shame,  and  the  boys  carried 
him  back  the  pencils  and  said  they  'd  done  with  'em. 
Dorry  says  he  's  going  to  ask  him  for  his  nose  some  day, 
and  then  see  whai  he  '11  do.  I  know.  Laugh.  You 
better  believe  he  's  a  clever  chap.  And  he  won't  kick. 
Dorry  likes  him  for  that.  Not  till  he  's  paid  his  quarter. 
Mr.  Augustus  offered  him  the  quarter,  but  he  said,  No, 
I  thank  you.  "Why  not?"  Mr.  Augustus  asked  him. 
He  said  he  guessed  he  'd  rather  earn  it.  We  expect  the 
teacher  heard  about  it,  and  guess  he  heard  about  that  fel- 
ler that  would  n't  pay  his  part,  and  about  his  borrowing 
and  not  paying  back,  lor  one  day  he  addressed  the  school 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  163 

about  money,  and  he  said  no  boy  of  spirit,  or  man  either, 
would  ever  take  money  as  a  gift,  long  as  he  was  able  to 
earn.  Course  he  did  n't  mean  what  your  fathers  give 
you,  and  Happy  New  Year's  Day,  and  all  that.  And  to 
borrow  and  not  pay  was  mean  as  dirt,  besides  being 
wicked.  He  'd  heard  of  people  borrowing  little  at  a  time 
and  making  believe  forget  to  pay,  because  they  knew 
't'would  n't  be  asked  for.  The  feller  I  told  you  about  — 
the  one  that  kicks  and  don't  pay  —  he  owes  Gapper  Sky 
Blue  for  four  seed-cakes.  Mr.  Augustus  says  that  what 
makes  it  mean  is,  that  he  knows  Gapper  won't  ask  for 
two  cents  !  Gapper  let  him  have  'em  for  two  cents,  be- 
cause he  'd  had  'em  a  good  while  and  the  edges  of  'em  were 
some  crumbly.  And  he  borrowed  six  cents  from  Dorry 
and  knows  Dorry  won't  say  anything  ever,  and  so  he  's 
trying  to  keep  from  paying.  I  guess  his  left  ear  burns 
sometimes ! 

Gapper  can't  go  round  now,  selling  cakes,  because 
he  's  lame,  and  has  to  go  with  two  canes.  But  he  keeps 
a  pig,  and  he  and  little  Rosy  make  tiptop  molasses  candy 
to  sell  in  sticks,  one-centers  and  two-centers,  and  sell  'em 
to  the  boys  when  they  go  up  there  to  coast.  I  tell  you 
if 't  is  n't  bully  coasting  on  that  hill  back  of  his  house ! 
We  begin  way  up  to  the  tip-top  and  go  way  down  and 
then  across  a  pond  that  is  n't  there  only  winters  and  then 
into  a  lane,  a  sort  of  downish  lane,  that  goes  ever  so  far. 
Buhby  Short  'most  got  run  over  by  a  sleigh.  He  was 
going  "  knee-hacket  "  and  did  n't  see  where  he  was  going 
to,  and  went  like  lightning  right  between  the  horses' 
legs,  and  did  n't  hurt  him  a  bit. 

Last  ni"ht  when  the  moon  shone  the  teachers  let  us 


164  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

go  out,  and  they  went  too,  and  some  of  their  wives  and 
some  girls.  O,  if  we  did  n't  have  the  fun  !  We  had  a 
great  horse-sled,  and  we  'd  drag  it  way  up  to  the  top, 
and  then  pile  in.  Teachers  and  boys  and  women  and 
girls,  all  together,  and  away  we  'd  go.  Once  it  'most 
tipped  over.  O,  I  never  did  see  anything  scream  so 
loud  as  girls  can  when  they  're  scared  ?  I  wish  't 
would  be  winter  longer  than  it  is.  We  have  a  Debating 
Society.  And  the  question  we  had  last  was,  "  Which  is 
the  best,  Summer  or  Winter  ?  "  And  we  got  so  fast  for 
talking,  and  kept  interrupting  so,  the  teacher  told  the 
Summers  to  go  on  one  side  and  the  Winters  on  the 
other,  and  then  take  turns  firing  at  each  other,  one  shot 
at  a  time.  And  Dorry  was  chosen  Reporter  to  take 
notes,  but  I  don't  know  as  you  can  read  them,  he  was  in 
such  a  hurry. 

"  In  summer  you  can  fly  kites. 

"  In  winter  you  can  skate. 

"  In  summer  you  have  longer  time  to  play. 

u  In  winter  you  have  best  fun  coasting  evenings. 

"  In  summer  you  can  drive  hoop  and  sail  boats. 

"  In  winter  you  can  snow-ball  it  and  have  darings. 

"  In  summer  you  can  go  in  swimming,  and  play  ball. 

"In  winter  you  can  coast  and  make  snow-forts. 

"  In  summer  you  can  go  a  fishing. 

"  So  you  can  in  winter,  with  pickerel  traps  to  catch 
pickerel  and  perch  on  the  ponds,  and  on  rivers.  When 
the  fish  come  up  you  can  make  a  hole  in  the  ice  and  set 
a  light  to  draw  'em,  and  then  take  a  jobber  and  job  'era 
as  fast  as  you  're  a  mind  to. 

**  In  summer  you  can  go  take  a  saiL 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  165 

"  In  winter  you  can  go  take  a  sleigh-ride. 

"  In  summer  you  don't  freeze  to  death. 

"  In  winter  you  don't  get  sunstruck. 

"  In  summer  you  see  green  trees  and  flowers  and  hear 
the  birds  sing. 

"  In  winter  the  snow  falling  looks  pretty  as  green 
leaves,  and  so  do  the  icicles  on  the  branches,  when  the 
sun  shines,  and  we  can  hear  the  sleigh-bells  jingle. 

"  In  summer  you  have  green  peas  and  fruit,  and 
huckleberries  and  other  berries. 

"  In  winter  you  have  molasses  candy  and  pop-corn 
and  mince-pies  and  preserves  and  a  good  many  more 
roast  turkeys,  (another  boy  interrupting)  and  all  kinds 
of  everything  put  up  air-tight ! 

(Teacher.)  Order,  order,  gentlemen.  One  shot  at  a 
time. 

"  In  summer  you  have  Independent  Day,  and  that 's 
the  best  day  there  is.  -For  if  it  had  n't  been  for  that, 
we  should  have  to  mind  Queen  Victoria. 

"  In  winter  you  have  Thanksgiving  Day  and  Fore- 
father's Day  and  Christmas  and  Happy  New-Year  Day 
and  the  Twenty-second  of  February,  and  that 's  Wash- 
ington's  Birthday.  And  if  it  had  n't  been  for  that  we 
should  have  to  mind  Queen  Victoria." 

When  the  time  was  up  the  teacher  told  all  that  had 
changed  their  minds  to  change  their  sides,  and  some  of 
the  Summers  came  over  to  ours,  but  the  Winters  all 
stayed.  Then  the  teacher  made  some  remarks,  and  said 
how  glad  we  ought  to  be  that  there  were  different  kinds 
of  fun  and  beautiful  things  all  the  year  round.  Bubby 
Short  says  he  's  sure  he  's  glad,  for  if  a  feller  could  n't 


106  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

have  fun  what  would  he  do?  After  we  got  outdoors 
the  summer  ones  that  did  n't  go  over  hollered  out  to  the 
other  ones  that  did,  "  Ho !  ho !  Winter  killed !  Winter 
killed !  'Fore  I  'd  be  Winter  killed  !  Frost  bit !  Frost 
bit !  'Fore  I  'd  be  Frost  bit !  " 

I  should  like  to  see  my  sister's  blue  boots.  I  am  very 
careful  when  I  go  a  skating.  There  is  n't  any  spring- 
hole  in  our  pond.  I  don't  know  where  my  handker- 
chiefs go  to. 

Your  affectionate  Grandson, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  Don't  keep  awake.  I  '11  look  out.  Bubby 
Short's  folks  write  just  so  to  him.  And  Dorry's.  I 
wonder  what  makes  everybody  think  boys  want  to  be 
drowned  ? 

The  boys  must  have  been  much  interested  in  that  "  Debat- 
ing Society."  When  William  Henry  was  at  home  he  fre- 
quently started  a  question,  and  called  upon  all  to  take  sides. 

Georgiana  to  William  Henry. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,— 

Yesterday  I  went  to  Aunt  Phebe's  to  eat  supper,  and 
had  on  my  light  blue  boots  Uncle  Jacob  brought  me 
when  he  went  away.  He  dragged  me  over  because 
't  was  snowing,  for  he  said  the  party  could  n't  be  put  off 
because  they  had  got  all  ready.  But  the  party  was  n't 
anybody  but  me,  but  he  's  all  the  time  funning.  Aunt 
Phebe's  little  Tommy  he  had  some  new  rubber  boots, 
but  they  did  n't  get  there  till  after  supper,  and  then 
't  was  'most  his  bedtime.  But  he  got  into  the  boots  and 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  1G7 

walked  all  round  with  them  after  his  nightgown  was  on, 
and  the  nightgown  hung  down  all  over  the  rubber  boots. 
And  when  they  wanted  to  put  him  in  his  crib  he  did  n't 
want  to  take  them  off,  so  Uncle  Jacob  said  better  let 
the  boots  stay  on  till  he  got  asleep,  and  then  pull  'em 
off  softly  as  she  could.  Then  they  put  him  in  the  crib 
and  let  the  boots  stick  out  one  side,  without  any  bed- 
clothes being  put  over  them.  But  we  guessed  he  dreamed 
about  his  boots,  because  soon  as  they  pulled  'em  a  little 
bit,  he  reached  down  to  the  boots  and  held  on.  But 
when  he  got  sound  asleep  then  she  pulled  'em  off  softly 
and  stood  'em  up  in  the  corner.  I  carried  my  work  with 
me,  and  't>  was  the  handkerchief  that  is  going  to  be  put 
in  this  letter.  Aunt  Phebe  thinks  some  of  the  stitches 
are  quite  nice.  She  says  you  must  excuse  that  one  in 
the  corner,  not  where  your  name  is,  but  next  one  to  it. 
The  snow-storm  was  so  bad  I  stayed  all  night,  and  they 
made  some  corn-balls,  and  Uncle  Jacob  passed  them  round 
to  me  first,  because  I  was  the  party,  in  the  best  waiter. 

And  we  had  a  good  time  seeing  some  little  pigs  that 
the  old  pig  stepped  on,  —  six  little  pigs,  about  as  big  as 
puppies,  that  had  little  tails,  and  she  would  n't  take  a 
mite  of  cai'e  of  them.  She  won't  let  them  get  close  up 
to  her  to  keep  warm,  and  keeps  a  stepping  on  'em  all  the 
time,  and  broke  one's  leg.  She  's  a  horrid  old  pig,  and 
Uncle  Jacob  was  afraid  they  might  freeze  to  death  in  the 
night,  and  Aunt  Phebe  found  a  basket,  a  quite  large 
.basket,  and  put  some  cotton-wool  in  it.  Then  put  in  the 
pigs.  When  't  was  bedtime  some  bricks  were  put  on  the 
stove,  and  then  he  put  the  basket  with  the  little  pigs  in 
it  on  top  of  the  bricks,  but  put  ashes  on  the  fire  first,  so 


168  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

they  could  keep  warm  all  night.  And  in  the  night  they 
kept  him  awake,  making  little  squealy  noises,  and  he 
thought  the  fire  would  get  hot  and  roast  them,  and  once 
one  climbed  up  over  and  tumbled  down  on  to  the  floor 
and  'most  killed  himself  so  he  died  afterwards.  And  he 
says  he  feels  very  sleepy  to-day,  watching  with  the  little 
pigs  all  night.  For  soon  as  't  was  daylight,  and  before 
too,  Tommy  jumped  out  and  cried  to  have  his  rubber 
boots  took  into  bed  with  him,  and  then  the  roosters  crowed 
so  loud  in  the  hen-house  close  to  his  bedroom  window 
that  he  could  n't  take  a  nap.  He  told  me  to  send  to  you 
in  my  letter  a  question  to  talk  about  where  you  did  about 
summer  and  winter.  Why  do  roosters  crow  in  the  morning? 

Two  of  the  little  pigs  were  dead  in  the  morning,  beside 
that  one  that  killed  itself  dropping  down,  and  now  two 
more  are  dead.  She  is  keeping  this  last  one  in  a  warm 
place,  for  they  don't  dare  to  let  it  go  into  the  pig-sty,  for 
fear  she  would  step  on  it  or  eat  it  up,  for  he  says  she  's 
worse  than  a  cannibal.  But  I  don't  know  what  that  is. 
He  says  they  kill  men  and  eat  them  alive,  but  I  guess 
he  's  funning.  She  dips  a  sponge  in  milk  aud  lets  that 
last  little  pig  suck  that  sponge. 

Grandmother  wants  to  know  if  little  Rosy  has  got  any 
good  warm  mittens.  Wants  to  know  if  Mr.  Sky  Blue 
has.  And  you  must  count  your  handkerchiefs  every 
week,  she  says.  Little  Tommy  went  out  with  his  rubber 
boots,  and  waded  way  into  such  a  deep  snow-bank  he 
could  n't  get  himself  out,  and  when  they  lifted  him  up 
they  lifted  him  right  out  of  his  rubber  boots.  Then  he 
cried.  Tommy's  cut  off  a  piece  of  his  own  hair. 
Your  affectionate  sister, 

GEORGIANA. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  169 

William  Henry  to  his  Sister. 

MY  DEAR  SISTER, — 

You  can  tell  Grandmother  that  Lame  Betsey  knit  a  pair 
for  Gapper  Sky  Blue,  blue  ones  with  white  spots,  and  little 
Rosy  has  got  an  old  pair.  You  are  a  very  good  little  girl 
to  hem  handkerchiefs.  I  think  you  hemmed  that  one  very 
well.  It  came  last  night,  and  we  looked  for  that  long 
stitch  to  excuse  it,  and  Dorry  said  it  ought  to  be,  for  he 
guessed  that  was  the  stitch  that  saved  nine.  When  the 
letter  came,  Dorry  and  Bubby  Short  and  Old  Wonder 
Boy  and  I  were  sitting  together,  studying.  When  I  read 
about  the  pigs  I,  tell  you  if  they  did  n't  laugh !  And 
when  that  little  piggy  dropped  out  of  the  basket  Bubby 
Short  dropped  down  on  the  floor  and  laughed  so  loud  we 
had  to  stop  him.  Dorry  said,  "Let's  play  have  a  De- 
bating Society,  and  take  Uncle  Jacob's  question."  And 
we  did.  First  Old  Wonder  Boy  stood  up.  And  he  said 
they  crowed  in  the  morning  to  tell  people  't  was  time  to 
get  up  and  to  let  everybody  know  they  themselves  were 
up  and  stirring  about.  Said  he  'd  lain  awake  mornings, 
down  in  Jersey,  and  listened  and  heard  'em  say  just  as 
plain  as  day.  "  I  'm  up  and  you  ought  to,  too !  And 
you  ought  to,  too !  " 

Then  Bubby  Short  stood  up  and  said  he  thought  they 
were  telling  the  other  ones  to  keep  in  their  own  yards, 
and  not  be  flying  over  where  they  did  n't  belong.  Said 
he'd  lain  awake  in  the  morning  and  heard  'em  say,  just 
as  plain  as  day,  "  If  you  do,  I  '11  give  it  to  you  !  I  '11 
give  it  to  you  oo  oo  oo  !  " 

But  a  little  chap  that  had  come  to  hear  what  was  going 
8 


170  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

on  said  't  was  more  likely  they  were  daring  each  other 
to  come  on  and  fight.  For  he  'd  lain  awake  in  the  morn- 
ing and  listened  and  heard  'em  say,  "  Come  on  if  you 
dare,  for  I  can  whip  you  oo  oo  ! " 

Then  't  was  my  turn,  and  I  stood  up  and  said  I  guessed 
the  best  crower  kept  a  crowing  school,  and  was  showing 
all  the  young  ones  how  to  scale  up  and  down,  same  as 
the  singing-master  did.  For  I  'd  lain  awake  in  the  morn- 
ing and  heard  first  the  old  one  crow,  and  then  the  little 
ones  try  to.  And  heard  the  old  one  say,  just  as  plain  as 
day,  "Open  your  mouth  wide  and  do  as  I  do !  Do  as  I 
do  !  "  and  then  the  young  ones  say,  "  Can't  quite  do  so  ! 
Can't  quite  do  so ! " 

Dorry  said  he  never  was  wide  awake  enough  in  the 
morning  to  hear  what  anybody  said,  but  he  'd  always  un- 
derstood they  were  talking  about  the  weather,  and  giving 
the  hens  their  orders  for  the  day,  telling  which  to  lay  and 
»which  to  set,  and  where  the  good  places  were  to  steal 
nests,  and  where  there  'd  been  anything  planted  they  could 
scratch  up  again,  and  how  to  bring  up  their  chickens,  and 
to  look  out  and  not  hatch  ducks'  eggs. 

The  teacher  opened  the  door  then  to  see  if  we  were  all 
studying  our  lessons,  so  the  Debating  Society  stopped. 

Should  you  like  to  hear  about  our  going  to  take  a  great 
big  sleigh-ride?  The  whole  school  went  together  in 
great  big  sleighs  with  four  horses.  We  had  flags  flying, 
and  I  tell  you  if  't  was  n't  a  bully  go  !  We  went  ten 
miles.  We  went  by  a  good  many  schoolhouscs,  where 
the  boys  were  out,  and  they'd  up  and  hurrah,  and  then 
we  'd  hurrah  back  again.  And  one  lot  of  fellers,  if  they 
didn't  let  the  snowballs  fly  at  us  !  And  we  wanted  our 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


171 


driver  to  stop,  and  let  us  give  it  to  'em  good.     But  he 
would  n't  do  it.     One  little  chap  hung  his  sled  on  behind 


and  could  n't  get  it  unhitched  again,  for  some  of  our  feU 
lers  kept  hold,  and  we  carried  him  off  more  than  a  mile. 
Then  he  began  to  cry.  Then  the  teacher  heard  him,  and 
had  the  sleigh  stopped,  and  took  him  in  and  he  went  all 
the  way  with  us.  He  lost  his  mittens  trying  to  unhitch 
it,  and  his  hands  ached,  but  he  made  believe  laugh,  and 
we  put  him  down  in  the  bottom  to  warm  'em  in  the 
hay.  We  'most  ran  over  an  old  beggar-woman,  in  one 
place  between  two  drifts,  where  there  was  n't  very  much 
room  to  turn  out.  I  guess  she  was  deaf.  We  all  stood 
up  and  shouted  and  bawled  at  her  and  the  driver  held  'em 
in  tight.  And  just  as  their  noses  almost  touched  her  she 
looked  round,  and  then  she  was  so  scared  she  did  n't  know 
what  to  do,  but  just  stood  still  to  let  herself  be  run  over. 
But  the  driver  hollered  and  made  signs  for  her  to  stand 
close  up  to  the  drift,  and  then  there  'd  be  room  enough. 
When  I  got  home  I  found  my  bundle  and  the  tin  box 
rolled  up  in  that  new  jacket,  with  all  that  good  jelly  in 
it.  Old  Wonder  Boy  peeped  in  and  says  he,  "  O,  there  's 
quite  some  jelly  in  there,  is  n't  there  ?  "  He  says  down 


172  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

in  Jersey  they  make  nice  quince-jelly  out  of  apple-par- 
ings, and  said  't  was  true,  for  he  'd  eaten  some.  Dorry 
said  he  knew  that  was  common  in  Ireland,  but  never 
knew  't  was  done  in  this  country.  Dorry  says  you  must 
keep  us  posted  about  the  last  of  the  piggies.  Keep 
your  pretty  blue  boots  nice  for  Brother  Billy  to  see, 
won't  you  ?  Thank  you  for  hemming  that  pretty  hand- 
kerchief. I  've  counted  my  handkerchiefs  a  good  many 
times,  but  counting  'em  don't  make  any  difference. 
•  From  your  affectionate  Brother, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

The  course  of  true  love  it  seems  did  not  always  run  smooth 
with  Dorry  and  William  Henry. 

William  Henry  to  his  Grandmother. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — 

This  is  only  a  short  letter  that  I  am  going  to  write  to 
you,  because  I  don't  feel  like  writing  any.  But  when  I 
don't  write  then  you  think  I  have  the  measles,  else 
drowned  in  the  pond,  and  I  '11  write  a  little,  but  I  feel  so 
sober  I  don't  feel  like  writing  very  much.  I  suppose 
you  will  say,  —  what  are  you  feeling  so  sober  about  ? 
Well,  seems  if  I  did  n't  have  any  fun  now,  for  Dorry  and 
I  we  've  got  mad  at  each  other.  And  he  don't  hardly 
speak  to  me,  and  T  don't  to  him  either ;  and  if  he  don't 
want  to  he  need  n't,  for  I  don't  mean  to  be  fooling  round 
im,  and  trying  to  get  him  to,  if  he  don't  want  to. 

Last  night  we  all  went  out  to  coast,  and  the  teachers 
and  a  good  many  ladies  and  girls,  and  we  were  going  to 
see  which  was  the  champion  sled.  But  something  else 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  173 

fiappened  first.  The  top  of  the  hill  was  all  bare,  and 
before  they  all  got  there  some  of  the  fellers  were  scuf- 
fling together  for  fun,  and  Dorry  and  I  we  tried  to  take 
each  other  down.  First  of  it  't  was  all  in  fun,  but  then 
it  got  more  in  earnest,  and  he  hit  me  in  the  face  so  hard 
it  made  me  mad,  and  I  hit  him  and  he  got  mad  too. 


Then  we  began  to  coast,  for  the  people  had  all  got 
there.  Dorry's  and  mine  were  the  two  swiftest  ones, 
and  we  kept  near  each  other,  but  his  slewed  round  some, 
and  he  said  I  hit  it  with  my  foot  he  guessed,  and  then 
we  had  some  words,  and  I  don't  know  what  we  did  both 
say ;  but  now  we  keep  away  from  each  other,  and  it 
seems  so  funny  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  The  teacher 
asked  me  to  go  over  to  the  stable  to-day,  for  he  lost  a 
bunch  of  compositions  and  thought  they  might  have 
dropped  out  of  his  pocket,  when  we  went  to  take  that 
sleigh-ride.  And  I  was  just  going  to  say,  "  Come  on, 
Old  Dorrymas  !  "  before  I  thought. 

But  't  is  the  funniest  in  the  morning.  This  morning 
I  waked  up  early,  and  he  was  fast  asleep,  and  I  thought, 
Now  you  '11  catch  it,  old  fellow,  and  was  just  a  going  to 
pull  his  hair  ;  but  in  a  minute  I  remembered.  Then  I 
dressed  myself  and  thought  I  would  take  a  walk  out.  I 
went  just  as  softly  by  his  bed  and  stood  still  there  a 
minute  and  set  out  to  give  a  little  pull,  for  I  don't  feel 


174  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

half  so  mad  as  I  did  the  first  of  it,  but  was  afraid  he  did. 
So  I  went  out-doors  and  looked  round.  Went  as  far  as 
the  Two  Betseys'  Shop  and  was  going  by,  but  The 
Other  Betsey  stood  at  the  door  shaking  a  mat,  and  called 
to  me,  "  Billy,  where  are  you  going  to  ?  " 

"  Only  looking  round,"  I  said.  She  told  me  to  come 
in  and  warm  me,  and  I  thought  I  would  go  in  just  a 
minute  or  two.  Lame  Betsey  was  frying  flapjacks  in 
a  spider,  "a  little  mite  of  a  spider,  for  breakfast.  She 
spread  butter  on  one  and  made  me  take  it  to  eat  in  a 
saucer,  and  I  never  tasted  of  a  better  flapjack.  There 
was  a  cinnamon  colored  jacket  hanging  on  the  chair- 
back,  and  I  said,  "  Why,  that  's  Spicey's  jacket  !  " 
"  Who  ?  "  they  cried  out  both  together.  Then  I 
called  him  by  his  right  name,  Jim  Mills.  He 's 
some  relation  to  them,  and  his  mother  is  n't  well  enough 
to  mend  all  his  clothes,  so  Lame  Betsey  does  it  for 
nothing.  He  earns  money  to  pay  for  his  schooling, 
and  he  wants  to  go  to  college,  and  they  don't  doubt  he 
will.  They  said  he  was  the  best  boy  that  ever  was.  His 
mother  does  n't  have  anybody  but  him  to  do  tilings  for 
her,  only  his  little  sister  about  the  size  of  my  little  sister. 
He  makes  the  fires  and  cuts  wood  and  splits  kindling, 
and  looks  into  the  buttery  to  see  when  the  tilings  are 
empty,  and  never  waits  to  be  told.  When  they  talked 
about  him  they  both  talked  together,  and  Lame  Betsey 
let  one  spiderful  burn  forgetting  to  turn  'em  over  time 
enough. 

When  I  was  coming  away  they  said,  "  Where 's  Dorry  ? 
I  thought  you  two  always  kept  together."  For  we  did 
always  go  to  buy  things  together.  Then  I  told  her  a 
little,  but  not  all  about  it. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  175 

"  O,  make  up  !  make  up  ! "  they  said.    "  Make  up  and 
be  friends  again ! "     I  'm  willing   to  make  up  if  he  is. 
But  I  don't  mean  to  be  the  first  one  to  make  up. 
From  your  affectionate  Grandson, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

William  Henry  to  his  Grandmother. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER, — - 

I  guess  you  '11  think  't  is  funny,  getting  another  letter 
again  from  me  so  soon,  but  I  'm  in  a  hurry  to  have  my 
father  send  me  some  money  to  have  my  skates  mended ; 
ask  him  if  he  won't  please  to  send  me  thirty-three  cents, 
and  we  two  have  made  up  again  and  I  thought  you 
would  like  to  know.  It  had  been  'most  three  days,  and 
we  had  n't  been  anywhere  together,  or  spoken  hardly, 
and  I  had  I't  looked  him  in  the  eye,  or  he  me.  Old 
Wonder  Boy  he  wanted  to  keep  round  me  all  the  time, 
and  have  double-runner  together.  He  knew  we  two 
had  n't  been  such  chums  as  we  used  to  be,  so  he  came 
up  to  me  and  said,  "  Billy,  I  think  that  Dorry  's  a  mean 
sort  of  a  chap,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  I  said.  "  He  don't  know  what  't  is  to 
be  mean  !  "  For  I  was  n't  going  to  have  him  coming 
any  Jersey  over  me  ! 

"  O,  you  need  n't  be  so  spunky  about  it ! "  says  he. 

"  I  ain't  spunky  !  "  says  I. 

Then  I  went  into  the  school-room,  to  study  over  my 
Latin  Grammar  before  school  began,  and  sat  down 
amongst  the  boys  that  were  all  crowding  round  the  stove 
And  I  was  studying  away,  and  did  n't  mind  'em  fooling 
round  me,  for  I  'd  lost  one  mark  day  before,  and  did  n't 


176  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

mean  to  lose  any  more,  for  you  know  what  my  father 
promised  me,  if  my  next  Report  improved  much.  And 
while  I  was  sitting  there,  studying  away,  and  drying  my 
feet,  for  we  'd  been  having  darings,  and  W.  B.  he 
stumped  me  to  jump  on  a  place  where  't  was  cracking, 
and  I  went  in  over  tops  of  boots  and  wet  my  feet  sop- 
ping wet.  And  I  did  n't  notice  at  first,  for  I  was  n't 
looking  round  much,  but  looking  straight  down  on  my 
Latin  Grammar,  and  did  n't  notice  that  'most  all  the  boys 
had  gone  out.  Only  about  half  a  dozen  left,  and  one  of 
'em  was  Dorry,  and  he  sat  to  the  right  of  me,  about  a 
yard  off,  studying  his  lesson.  Then  another  boy  went 
out,  and  then  another,  and  by  and  by  every  one  of  them 
was  gone,  and  left  us  two  sitting  there.  O,  we  sat  just 
as  still !  I  kept  my  head  down,  and  we  made  believe 
think  of  nothing  but  just  the  lesson.  First  thing  I  knew 
he  moved,  and  I  looked  up,  and  there  was  Dorry  looking 
me  right  in  the  eye  !  And  held  out  his  hand  —  u  How 
are  you,  Sweet  William  ?  "  says  he,  and  laughed  some. 
Then  I  clapped  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "  Old  Dorry- 
mas,  how  are  you  ? "  says  I.  And  so  you  see  we  got 
over  it  then,  right  away. 

Dorry  says  he  was  n't  asleep  that  morning,  when  I 
stood  there,  only  making  believe.  Said  he  wished  I  'd 
pull,  then  he  was  going  to  pull  too,  and  would  n't  that 
been  a  funny  way  to  make  up,  pulling  hair  ?  He  's  had 
a  letter  from  Tom  Gush  and  he  's  got  home,  but  is  going 
away  again,  for  he  means  to  be  a  regular  sailor  and  get 
to  be  captain  of  a  great  ship.  He  's  coming  here  next 
week*  I  hope  you  won't  forget  that  thirty-three.  I  'd 
just  as  lives  have  fifty,  and  that  would  come  better  in 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  177 

the  letter,  don't  you  believe  it  would  ?  That  photograph 
saloon  has  just  gone  by,  and  the  boys  are  running  down 
to  the  road  to  chase  it.  When  Dorry  and  I  sat  there  by 
the  stove,  it  made  me  remember  what  Uncle  Jacob  said 
about  our  picture. 

Your  affectionate  Grandson, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

William  Henry  to  his  Grandmother. 
MY  DEAR' GRANDMOTHER, — 

The  reason  that  I  've  kept  so  long  without  writing  is 
because  I  've  had  to  do  so  many  things.  We  've  been 
speaking  dialogues  and  coasting  and  daring  and  snow- 
balling, and  then  we  've  had  to  review  and  review  and 
review,  because  't  is  the  last  of  the  term,  and  he  says  he 
believes  in  reviews  more  than  the  first  time  we  get  it.  I 
tell  you,  the  ones  that  did  n't  get  them  the  first  time  are 
bad  off  now.  I  wish  now  I  'd  begun  at  the  first  of  it 
and  got  every  one  of  mine  perfect,  then  I  should  have 
easier  times.  The  coast  is  wearing  off  some,  and  we 
carry  water  up  and  pour  on  it,  and  let  it  freeze,  and 
throw  snow  on.  Now  't  is  moonshiny  nights,  the  teacher 
lets  all  the  "  perfects  "  go  out  to  coast  an  hour.  Some- 
times I  get  out.  And  guess  where  Bubby  Short  and 
Dorry  and  I  are  going  to-night  I  Now  you  can't  guess,  I 
know  you  can't.  To  a  party !  Now  where  do  you  sup- 
pose the  party  is  to  be  ?  You  can't  guess  that  either.  In 
this  town.  And  not  very  far  from  this  school-house. 
Somebody  you  've  heard  of.  Two  somebodies  you  've 
heard  of.  Now  don't  you  know  ?  The  Two  Betseys  ! 
Suppose  you  '11  think  't  is  funny  for  them  to  have  a 

8*  L 


178  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

party.  But  they  're  not  a  going  to  have  it  themselves. 
Now  I  '11  tell  you,  and  not  make  you  guess  any  more. 

You  know  I  told  you  Tom  Cush  was  coming.  He 
came  to-day.  He  's  grown  just  as  tall  and  as  fat  and  as 
black  and  has  some  small  whiskers.  I  did  n't  know 
't  was  Tom  Cush  when  I  first  looked  at  him.  Bubby 
Short  asked  me  what  man  that  was  talking  with  Dorry, 
and  I  said  I  did  n't  know,  but  afterwards  we  found  out. 
He  did  n't  know  me  either.  Says  I  'm  a  staving  great 
fellow.  He  gave  Dorry  a  ruler  made  of  twelve  different 
kinds  of  wood,  some  light,  some  dark,  brought  from 
famous  places.  And  gave  Bubby  Short  and  me  a  four- 
blader,  white  handled.  He 's  got  a  fur  cap  and  fur 
gloves,  and  is  'most  as  tall  as  Uncle  Jacob.  He  told 
Dorry  that  he  thought  if  he  did  n't  come  back  here  and 
see  everybody,  he  should  feel  like  a  sneak  all  the  rest  of 
his  life. 

We  three  went  down  to  The  Two  Betseys'  Shop  with 
him,  and  when  he  saw  it,  he  said,  "  Why,  is  that  the 
same  old  shop  ?  It  don't  look  much  bigger  than  a  hen- 
house !  "  Says  he  could  put  about  a  thousand  like  it  into 
one  big  church  he  saw  away.  Said  he  should  n't  dare  to 
climb  up  into  the  apple-tree  for  fear  he  should  break  it 
down.  Said  he  'd  seen  trees  high  as  a  liberty-pole.  And 
when  he  saw  where  he  used  to  creep  through  the  rails 
he  could  n't  believe  he  ever  did  go  through  such  a  little 
place,  and  tried  to,  but  could  n't  do  it.  So  he  took  a  run 
and  jumped  over,  and  we  after  him,  all  but  Bubby  Short. 
We  took  down  the  top  one  for  him. 

The  Two  Betseys  did  n't  know  him  at  first,  not  till  we 
told  them.  Dorry  said,  "  Here 's  a  little  boy  wants  to  buy 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


179 


a  stick  of  candy."     Then  Torn  said  he  guessed  he  'd  take 
the  whole  bottle  full.     And  he  took  out  a  silver  half  a 


dollar,  and  threw  it  down,  but  would  n't  take  any  change 
back,  and  then  treated  us  all,  and  a  lot  of  little  chaps  that 
stood  there  staring.  Lame  Betsey  said,  "  Wai,  I  never !  " 
and  The  Other  Betsey  said,  "  Now  did  you  ever  ?  Now 
who  'd  believe  't  was  the  same  boy ! "  And  Tom  said  he 
hoped  't  was  n't  exactly,  for  he  did  n't  think  much  of  that 
Tom  Gush  that  used  to  be  round  here.  Coming  back  he 
told  us  he  was  going  to  stay  till  in  the  evening,  and  have 
a  supper  at  the  Two  Betseys',  us  four  together,  but  not 
let  them  know  till  we  got  there.  He  's  going  to  carry 
the  things.  We  went  to  see  Gapper  Sky  Blue,  and  Tom. 
bought  every  bit  of  his  molasses  candy,  and  about  all  the 
seed-cakes.  When  I  write  another  letter,  then  you  '11 
know  about  the  party. 

Your  affectionate  Grandson, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  Do  you  think  my  father  would  let  me  go  to  sea  ? 


180  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

William  Henry  to  his  Grandmother. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER,  — 

We  had  it  and  they  did  n't  know  anything  about  it  till 
we  got  there,  and  then  they  did  n't  know  what  we  came 
for.  Guess  who  was  there  besides  us  four  !  Gapper 
Sky  Blue  and"  little  Rosy.  Tom  invited  them.  We  left 
the  bundles  inside  and  walked  in.  Not  to  the  shop,  but 
to  the  room  back,  where  they  stay.  They  told  us,  "  Do 
sit  up  to  the  fire,  for  't  is  a  proper  cold  day."  They  'd 
got  their  tea  a  warming  in  a  little  round  tea-pot,  a  black 
one,  and  their  dishes  on  a  little  round  table,  pulled  up 
close  to  Lame  Betsey  ;  seemed  just  like  my  sister,  when 
she  has  company,  playing  supper.  The  Other  Betsey, 
she  was  holding  a  skein  of  yarn  for  Laine  Betsey  to  wind, 
and  said  their  yarn-winders  were  come  apart.  Dorry 
said,  "  Billy,  let 's  you  and  I  make  some  yarn-winders  ! " 
Now  what  do  you  think  we  made  them  out  of?  Out  of 
ourselves !  We  stood  back  to  back,  with  our  elbows 
touching  our  sides,  and  our  arms  sticking  out,  and  our 
thumbs  sticking  up.  Then  Dorry  told  her  to  put  on  her 
yarn,  and  we  turned  ourselves  round,  like  yarn-winders. 

Pretty  soon  Gapper  Sky  Blue  and  Rosy  came.  Then 
we  brought  in  the  bundles  and  let  'em  know  what  was  up, 
and  they  did  n't  know  what  to  say.  All  they  could  say 
was,  "  Wai,  I  never  ! "  and  "  Now  did  you  ever  ?  " 

The  Other  Betsey  said  if  they  were  having  a  party 
they  must  smart  themselves  up  some.  So  she  got  out 
their  other  caps,  with  white  ruffles,  and  put  on  her  hand- 
kerchief with  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  the  back  corner,  but 
put  a  black  silk  cape  on  Lame  Betsey  that  had  a  muslin 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  181 

ruffle  round  it,  or  lace,  or  I  don't  know  what,  and  a 
clean  collar,  that  she  worked  herself,  when  she  was  a 
young  lady,  and  a  bow  of  ribbon,  that  she  used  to  wear  to 
parties,  wide  ribbon,  striped,  green  and  yellow,  or  pink, 
I  can't  tell,  and  both  of  'em  clean  aprons,  figured  aprons,  — 
calico,  1  think  like  enough,  —  with  the  creases  all  in  'em, 
and  strings  tied  in  front.  I  tell  you  if  the  Two  Betseys 
did  n't  look  tiptop !  Then  they  unset  that  little  round 
table,  and  we  dragged  out  the  great  big  one,  that  had  n't 
been  used  for  seventeen  years.  The  Other  Betsey's 
grandfather  had  it,  when  he  was  first  married.  When 
'tis  n't  a  table,  'tis  tipped  up  to  make  into  a  chair,  and 
had  more  legs  than  a  spider.  Little  Rosy  helped  set  the 
table.  She  never  went  to  a  party  before. 

O,  but  you  ought  to  've  seen  the  plates  !  You  know 
your  pie-pUites  ?  Well,  these  were  just  like  them.  All 
white,  with  scalloped  edges,  blue  scalloped  edges.  Only 
no  bigger  round  than  the  top  of  your  tin  dipper.  The 
knives  and  forks  —  two-prongers  —  had  green  handles. 
And  the  sugar-bowl  and  cream  pitcher  were  dark  blue. 
Tom  brought  a  good  deal  of  sugar,  all  in  white  lumps,  and 
a  can  of  milk.  He  bought  pies  and  jumbles  and  turn- 
overs and  ginger-snaps  and  egg-crackers  and  cake  and 
bread  at  the  bake-house,  and  butter  and  cheese  and 
Bologna  sausage  —  I  can't  bear  Bologna  sausage  —  and 
some  oranges,  that  he  brought  home  from  sea.  And  the 
sweetest  jelly  you  ever  saw !  Don't  know  what  't  is 
made  of,  but  they  call  it  guava  jelly,  and  comes  in  little 
boxes.  I  believe  I  could  eat  twenty  boxes  of  that  kind 
of  jelly,  if  I  could  get  it.  Dorry  says  he  don't  doubt 
they  make  it  out  of  apple-parings  down  in  Jersey, 


182  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

The  Olher  Betsey  stood  up  in  a  chair  and  took  down 
her  best  china  cups  and  saucers,  that  used  to  be  her 
grandmother's,  and  had  n't  been  took  down  for  a  good 
many  years,  and  wiped  the  dust  off.  Little  mites  of 
things,  with  pictures  on  them.  We  boys  didn't  drink 
tea,  only  Tom  Gush ;  we  had  milk  in  mugs.  Mine  was 
a  tall,  slim  one,  not  much  bigger  round  than  an  inkstand, 
and  had  pine-trees  on  it,  blue  pine-trees.  Dorry  had  a 
china  one  that  was  about  as  clear  as  glass,  that  Lame 
Betsey's  brother  brought  home  when  he  went  captain, 
and  Bubby  Short's  had  "  A  gift  of  affection  "  on  it.  That 
was  one  her  little  niece  used  to  drink  out  of  that  died 
afterwards,  when  she  was  very  little. 

I  tell  you  if  that  supper-table  did  n't  look  like  a  sup- 
per-table when  't  was  all  ready  !  They  set  Lame  Betsey 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  because  she  could  n't  get  up,  and 
Dorry  said  the  one  at  the  head  mtist  never  get  up,  for  it 
was  n't  polite.  We  took  her  right  up  in  her  chair  to  set 
her  there.  Then  there  was  some  fun  quarrelling  which 
should  sit  at  her  right  hand,  because  that  is  a  seat  of 
honor.  Tom  said  Gapper  ought  to,  for  he  was  the  oldest. 
But  he  said  it  ought  to  be  Tom,  because  he  was  the  most 
like  company.  But  at  last  she  said  't  would  n't  make 
any  difference,  because  she  was  left-handed.  The  Other 
Betsey  brought  some  twisted  doughnuts  out. 

Now  I  '11  tell  you  how  we  sat. 

Lame  Betsey  at  the  head,  and  the  Other  Betsey  at  the 
other  end  ;  Gapper  Sky  Blue  and  Rosy  and  Bubby 
Short  on  the  right  side,  and  Tom  and  Dorry  and  I  on 
the  left.  And  if  we  did  n't  have  a  bully  time  !  The  Two 
Betseys  and  Gapper  used  to  know  each  other,  and  to  go 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  183 

to  school  together,  and  they  told  such  funny  stories,  made 
us  die  a  laughing,  and  when  I  get  home  you  '11  hear 
some.  Then  Gapper  told  Tom  Gush  that  now  he  was 
a  sailor  he  ought  to  spin  us  a  yarn.  When  I  come  home 
I  '11  tell  you  the  yarn  Tom  spun.  'T  was  all  about  an 
alligator  he  saw,  and  about  going  near  it  in  a  boat,  and 
what  the  Arabs  did,  and  what  he  did,  and  what  the  alli- 
gator did.  Wait  till  I  come,  then  you  '11  hear  about 
it.  Both  Betseys  kept  putting  down  their  knife  and  fork, 
and  looking  up  at  him,  just  as  scared,  and  kept  saying, 
"  Wai,  I  never !  "  "  Now  did  you  ever  !  " 

Tom  acted  it  all  out.  First  he  cleared  a  place  for  a 
river.  Then  he  took  a  twisted  doughnut  for  the  alligator 
and  a  ginger-snap  for  a  boat.  I  '11  tell  you  about  it  some- 
time. Guess  't  was  n't  all  true,  for  you  can  put  anything 
you  've  a  mind,  to  in  a  yarn.  He  told  us  about  the  beau- 
tiful birds,  and  when  I  told  him  about  one  my  sister  used 
to  have,  he  said  he  'd  bring  her  home  a  Java  sparrow. 

Then  he  told  us  about  drinking  "  Hopshe  ! "  I  '11  tell 
how,  and  I  want  all  of  you  to  try  it. 

Now  suppose  Hannah  Jane  was  the  one  to  try  it. 

First,  she  takes  a  tumbler  of  water  in  her  hand,  then 
you  all  say  together,  Hannah  Jane  and  all,  quite  fast,  — 

"  A  blackbird  sat  on  a  swinging  limb. 
He  looked  at  me  and  I  at  him. 
Once  so  merrily,  —  Hopshe  ! 
Twice  so  merrily,  —  Hopshe ! 
Thrice  so  merrily,  —  Hopshe ! " 

Now  I  shall  tell  where  the  fun  comes  in. 
While  all  the   rest  say,  "  Once  so  merrily,"  Hannah. 
Jane  must  drink  one  swallow  quick  enough  to  say  the 


184  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS. 

"  Hopshe  ! "  with  them.  Then  another  swallow  whilo 
they  say,  "  Twice  so  merrily,"  and  another  while  they 
say,  "  Thrice  so  merrily,"  and  be  ready  to  say  tne  "  Hop- 
she  "  with  them,  every  time.  We  tried  it,  and  i  tell  you 
if  the  "  Hopshe's "  did  n't  come  in  all  sorts  of  funny 
ways !  The  Two  Betseys  told  about  some  tunny  tricks 
they  used  to  try,  to  see  who  was  going  to  be  their  beau. 
From  your  affectionate  Grandson, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  I  saw  a  dollar  bill  in  Gapper  Sky  Blue's  hand 
after  Tom  Gush  bade  him  good  by.  Dorry  f-ays  how  do 
I  know  but  't  was  more  than  a  dollar  bill,  and  I  don't. 

W  H. 

There  was  a  good  deal  left  for  the  Two  Betsey*  to  eat 
afterwards.  I  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Fry. 

William  Henry  to  Aunt  P/iebe. 

DEAR  AUNT,  — 

There  is  going  to  be  a  dancing-school,  and  Dorry's 
mother  wants  him  to  go,  and  he  says  he  guesses  he  shall, 
so  he  may  know  what  to  do  when  he  goes  to  parties, 
and  his  cousin  Arthur,  that  does  n't  go  to  this  school, 
says  't  is  bully  when  you  've  learned  how.  Please  ask 
my  grandmother  if  I  may  go  if  I  want  to.  Dorry  wants 
me  to  if  he  does,  he  says,  and  Bubby  Short  says  he 
means  to  too,  if  we  two  do,  if  his  mother  '11  let  him. 
Dorry's  mother  says  we  shall  get  very  good  manners 
there,  and  learn  how  to  walk  into  a  room.  I  know  how 
now  to  walk  into  a  room,  I  told  him,  walk  right  in.  But 
he  says  his  mother  means  to  enter  a  room,  and  there  's 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  185 

more  to  it  than  walking  right  in.  He  don't  mean  an 
empty  room,  but  company  and  all  that.  I  guess  I  should 
be  scared  to  go,  the  first  of  it ;  I  guess  I  should  be  bash- 
ful, but  Dorry's  cousin  says  you  get  over  that  when 
you  're  used  to  it.  Good  many  fellers  are  going.  Mr. 
Augustus,  and  Old  Wonder  Boy,  and  Mr.  O'Shirk.  Now 
I  suppose  you  can't  think  who  that  is !  Don't  you  know 
that  one  I  wrote  about,  that  kicked  and  did  n't  pay,  and 
that  would  n't  help  water  the  course  ?  The  great  boys 
picked  out  that  name  for  him,  Mr.  O'Shirk.  The  O 
stands  for  owe,  and  Shirk  stands  for  itself.  I  send  home 
a  map  to  my  grandmother,  I've  just  been  making,  and 
I  tried  hard  as  I  could  to  do  it  right,  and  I  hope  she 
will  excuse  mistakes,  for  I  never  made  one  before.  'T  is 
the  United  States.  Old  Wonder  Boy  says  he  should 
thought  I  'd  stretched  out  "  Yankee  Land  "  a  little  bigger. 
He  calls  the  New  England  States  "Yankee  Land." 
And  he  says  they  make  a  mighty  poor  show  on  the  map. 
But  Mr.  Augustus  told  him  the  brains  of  the  whole 
country  were  kept  in  a  little  place  up  top,  same  as  in 
folks.  So  W.  B.  kept  still  till  next  time.  Dorry  said 
he  'd  heard  of  folks  going  out  of  the  world  into  Jersey. 
If  I  go  to  dancing-school,  I  should  like  to  have  a  bosom 
shirt,  and  quite  a  stylish  bow.  I  think  I  'm  big  enough, 
don't  you,  for  bosom  shirts  ?  I  had  perfect  this  forenoon 
in  all.  I  've  lost  that  pair  of  spotted  mittens,  and  I  don't 
know  where,  I  'm  sure.  I  know  I  put  them  in  my 
pocket.  My  hands  get  just  as  numb  now  with  cold ! 
Seems  as  if  things  in  my  pockets  got  alive  and  jumped 
out.  I  was  clapping  'em  and  blowing  'em  this  morning, 
and  that  good,  tiptop  Wedding  Cake  teacher  told  me  to 


186  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

come  in  his  house,  and  his  wife  found  some  old  gloves  of 
his.  I  never  saw  a  better  lady  than  she  is.  When  she 
meets  us  she  smiles  and  says,  "  How  do  you  do,  William 
Henry  ?  "  or  Dorry,  or  whatever  boy  it  is.  Aud  when 
W.  B.  was  sick  one  day  she  took  care  of  him.  And 
she  asks  us  to  call  and  see  her,  and  says  she  likes  boys  ! 
Dorry  says  he  's  willing  to  wipe  his  feet  till  he  wears  a 
hole  in  the  mat,  before  he  goes  in  her  house.  For  she 
don't  keep  eying  your  boots.  Says  he  has  seen  women 
brush  up  a  feller's  mud  right  before  his  face  and  eyes. 
My  hair  grows  darker  colored  now.  And  my  freckles 
have  'most  faded  out  the  color  of  my  face.  I  'm  glad 

of  it. 

From  your  affectionate  Nephew, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

Aunt  Phebe  to  William  Henry. 

MY  DEAR  BILLY,  — 

We  are  very  much  pleased  indeed  with  your  map. 
Dear  me,  how  the  United  States  have  altered  since  they 
were  young,  same  as  the  rest  of  us !  That  western  part 
used  to  be  all  Territory.  You  could  n't  have  done  any- 
thing to  please  your  grandmother  better.  She  's  hung  it 
up  in  the  front  room,  between  Napoleon  and  the  Mourn- 
ing Piece,  and  thinks  everything  of  it.  Everybody  that 
comes  in  she  says,  "  Should  you  like  to  see  the  map  my 
little  grandson  made,  —  my  little  Billy  ?  "  You  '11  always 
be  her  little  Billy.  She  don't  seem  to  think  you  are 
growing  up  so  fast.  Then  she  throws  a  shawl  over  her 
head,  and  trots  across  the  entry  and  opens  the  shutters, 
and  theii  she  '11  say,  "Pretty  good  for  a  little  boy."  And 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS.  187 

tells  which  is  Maine,  and  which  is  New  York,  and  points 
out  the  little  arrow  and  the  printed  capital  letters.  Folks 
admire  fast  as  they  can,  for  that  room  is  cold  as  a  barn, 
winters.  The  last  one  she  took  in  was  the  minister. 
Your  grandmother  sets  a  sight  o'  store  by  you.  She  's 
proud  of  you,  Billy,  and  you  must  always  act  so  as  to 
give  her  reason  to  be,  and  never  bring  her  pride  to  shame. 

We  are  willing  you  should  go.  At  first  she  was 
rather  against  it,  though  she  says  she  always  meant 
you  should  learn  to  take  the  steps  when  you  got  old 
enough,  but  she  was  afraid  it  might  tend  to  making 
you  light-headed,  and  to  unsteady  your  mind.  This 
was  the  other  night  when  we  were  talking  it  over  in 
your  kitchen,  sitting  round  the  fire.  Somehow  we  get 
in  there  about  every  evening.  Does  seem  so  good  to  see 
the  blaze.  Your  father  said  if  a  boy  had  common  sense 
he  'd  keep  his  balance  anywhere,  and  if  dancing-school 
could  spoil  a  fellow,  he  was  n't  worth  spoiling,  worth 
keeping,  I  mean.  I  said  I  thought  it  might  tend  to  keep 
you  from  toeing  in,  and  being  clumsy  in  your  motions 
Your  Uncle  J.  said  he  did  n't  think  't  was  worth  while 
worrying  about  our  Billy  getting  spoiled  going  to  dancing- 
school,  or  anybody's  Billy,  without 't  was  some  dandyfied 
coot.  "Make  the  head  right  and  the  heart  right,"  says 
he,  "  and  let  the  feet  go,  —  if  they  want  to."  So  you 
see,  Billy,  we  expect  your  head  's  right  and  your  heart 's 
right.  Are  they  ? 

The  girls  and  I  have  turned  to  and  cut  and  made  you 
a  couple  of  bosom  shirts  and  three  bows,  for  of  course 
you  will  have  to  dress  rather  different,  and  think  a  little 
more  about  your  looks.  But  not  too  much,  Billy  !  Not 


188  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

too  much !  And  don't  for  gracious  sake  ever  get  the 
notion  that  you  're  good-looking  !  Don't  stick  a  breast- 
pin in  that  shirt-bosom  and  go  about  with  a  strut !  I 
don't  know  what  I  had  n't  as  soon  see  as  see  a  vain 
young  man.  I  do  believe  if  I  were  to  look  out,  and  you 
should  be  coming  up  my  front  yard  gravel  path  with  a 
strut,  or  any  sort  of  dandyfied  airs,  I  should  shut  the 
door  in  your  face.  Much  as  I  set  by  you,  I  really 
believe  I  should.  Lor !  what  are  good  looks  ?  What 
are  you  laying  out  to  make  of  yourself?  That 's  the 
question.  Freckles  are  not  so  bad  as  vanity.  Any- 
body 'd  think  I  was  a  minister's  wife,  the  way  I  talk. 
But,  Billy,  you  have  n't  got  any  mother,  and  I  do  think 
so  much  of  you !  'T  would  break  my  heart  to  see  you 
grow  up  into  one  of  those  spick-and-span  fellers,  that  are 
all  made  up  of  a  bow  and  a  scrape  and  a  genteel  smile  ! 
Though  I  don't  think  there  's  much  danger,  for  common 
sense  runs  in  the  family.  No  need  to  go  with  muddy 
boots,  though,  or  linty,  or  have  your  bow  upside  down. 
You  've  always  been  more  inclined  that  way.  Fact  is,  I 
want  you  should  be  just  right.  I  have  n't  a  minute's 
more  time  to  write.  Your  Uncle  J.  has  promised  to 
finish  this. 

DEAR  COUSIN  BILLY,  — 

This  is  Lucy  Maria  writing.  The  blacksmith^  sent 
word  he  was  waiting  to  sharpen  the  colt,  and  father 
had  to  go.  He 's  glad  of  it,  because  he  never  likes 
to  write  letters.  I  'm  glad  you  are  going  to  dancing- 
school.  Learn  all  the  new  steps  you  can,  so  as  to  show 
us  how  they  're  done.  Hannah  Jane's  beau  has  just  been 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  189 

here.  He  lives  six  miles  off,  close  by  where  we  went 
once  to  a  clam-bake,  when  Dorry  was  here.  Georgiana's 
great  doll,  Seraphine,  is  engaged  to  a  young  officer  across 
the  road.  He  was  in  the  war,  and  draws  a  pension  of  a 
cent  a  week.  The  engagement  is  n't  out  yet,  but  the 
family  have  known  it  several  days,  and  he  has  been  in- 
vited to  tea.  He  wore  his  best  uniform.  Seraphine  is 
invited  over  there,  and  Georgie  is  making  her  a  spangled 
dress  to  wear.  The  wedding  is  to  come  off  next  month. 
I  do  wish  I  could  think  of  more  news.  Father  is  the 
best  hand  to  write  news,  if  you  can  only  get  him  at  it. 
Once  when  I  was  away,  he  wrote  me  a  letter  and  told  me 
what  they  had  far  dinner,  and  what  everybody  was  doing, 
and  how  many  kittens  the  cat  had,  and  how  much  the 
calf  weighed,  and  what  Tommy  said,  and  seemed  'most 
as  if  I  'd  been  home  and  seen  them.  Be  sure  and  write 
how  you  get  along  at  dancing-school,  and  what  the  girls 
wear. 

Your  affectionate  Cousin, 

LUCY  MARIA. 

William  Henry  to  Aunt  Phebe. 

MY  DEAR  AUNT,  — 

Thank  you  for  the  bosom  shirts  and  the  ones  that 
helped  make  them.  They  've  come.  I  like  them  very 
much  and  the  bows  too.  They  're  made  right.  I  lent 
Bubby  Short  one  bow.  His  box  had  n't  come.  He  kept 
running  to  the  expressman's  about  every  minute.  We 
began  to  go  last  night.  If  we  miss  any  questions  to-day, 
we  phall  have  to  stay  away  next  night.  That 's  going  to 
be  the  rule.  O,  you  ought  to  've  seen  Dorry  and  me  at 


190  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTKRS. 

it  with  the  soap  and  towels,  getting  ready  !  We  scrubbed 
our  faces  real  bright  and  shining,  and  he  said  he  felt  like 
a  walking  jack-o'-lantern.  I  bought  some  slippers  and 
had  to  put  some  cotton-wool  in  both  the  toes  of  'em  to 
jam  my  heels  out  where  they  belonged  to.  I  don't  like 
to  wear  slippers.  My  bosom  shirt  sets  bully,  and  I  bought 
a  linen-finish  paper  collar.  I  have  n't  got  any  breastpin. 
I  don't  think  I  'm  good  looking.  Dorry  does  n't  either. 
I  know  he  don't.  That 's  girls'  business.  We  had  to 
buy  some  gloves,  because  his  cousin  said  the  girls  wore 
white  ones,  and  nice  things,  and  'twould  n't  do  if  we 
did  n't.  Yellowish-brownish  ones  we  got,  so  as  to  keep 
clean  longer.  But  trying  on  they  split  in  good  mauy 
places,  our  fingers  were  so  damp,  washing  'em  so  long. 
Lame  Betsey  is  going  to  sew  the  holes  up.  When  we 
got  there  we  did  n't  dare  to  go  in,  first  of  it,  but  stood 
peeking  in  the  door,  and  by  and  by  Old  Wonder  Boy 
gave  me  a  shove  and  made  me  tumble  in.  I  jumped  up 
quick,  but  there  was  a  great  long  row  of  girls,  and  they 
all  went,  "  Tee  hee  hee !  tee  hee  hee  ! "  Then  Mr.  Tor- 
nero  stamped  and  put  us  in  the  gentlemen's  row.  Then 
both  rows  had  to  stand  up  and  take  positions,  and  put  one 
heel  in  the  hollow  of  t'  other  foot,  and  then  t'  other  heel  in 
that  one's  hollow,  and  make  bows  and  twist  different  ways. 
And  right  in  front  was  a  whole  row  of  girls,  all  looking. 
But  they  made  mistakes  theirselves  sometimes. 

First  thing  we  learned  the  graces,  and  that  is  to  bend 
way  over  sideways,  with  one  hand  up  in  the  air,  and 
the  other  'most  way  down  to  the  floor,  then  shift  about  on 
t'  other  tack,  then  come  down  on  one  knee,  with  one  hand 
way  behind,  and  the  other  one  reached  out  ahead  as  if 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  191 

't  was  picking  up  something  a  good  ways  off.  We  have 
to  do  these  graces  to  make  us  limberer,  so  to  dance  easier. 
I  tell  you  't  is  mighty  tittlish,  keeping  on  one  knee  and 
the  other  toe,  and  reaching  both  ways,  and  looking  up  in 
the  air.  I  did  something  funny.  I  '11  tell  you,  but  don't 
tell  Grandmother.  Of  course  't  was  bad,  I  know  't  was, 
made  'em  all  laugh,  but  I  did  n't  think  of  their  all  pitch- 
ing over.  You  see  I  was  at  one  end  of  the  row  and  W.  B. 
was  next,  and  we  were  fixed  all  as  I  said,  kneeling  down  in 
that  tittlish  way,  reaching  out  both  ways,  before  and  be- 
hind, and  looking  up,  and  I  remembered  how  he  shoved 
me  into  the  room,  and  just  gave  him  a  little  bit  of  a 
shove,  and  lie  pitched  on  to  the  next  one,  and  he  on  to 
the  next,  and  that  one  on  to  the  next,  and  so  that  whole 
row  went  down,  just  like  a  row  of  bricks !  Course 
everybody  laughed,  and  Mr.  Tornero  did  too,  but  he  soon 
stamped  us  still  again.  And  then  just  as  they  all  got 
still  again,  I  kept  seeing  how  they  all  went  down,  and  I 
shut  up  my  mouth,  but  all  of  a  sudden  that  laugh  shut 
up  inside  made  a  funny  sort  of  squelching  sound,  and  he 
looked  at  me  cross  and  stamped  his  foot  again.  Now  I 
suppose  he  '11  think  I  'm  a  bad  one,  just  for  that  tumbling 
in  and  shoving  that  row  down  and  then  laughing  when  I 
was  trying  to  keep  in  !  He  wants  we  should  practise  the 
graces  between  times,  to  limber  us  up.  Dorry  and  I  do 
them  up  in  our  room.  Guess  you'd  laugh  if  you  could  see, 
when  we  do  that  first  part,  bending  over  sideways,  one 
hand  up  and  one  down.  I  tried  to  draw  us,  but  't  is  a 
good  deal  harder  drawing  crooked  boys  than  't  is  straight 
ones,  so  't  is  n't  a  very  good  picture.  The  boys  that  go 
keep  practising  in  the  entries  and  everywhere,  and  the 


192  THE   WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS. 

other  ones  do  it  to  make  fun  of  us,  so  you  keep  seeing 
twisted  boys  everywhere.  Bubby  Short  was  kneeling 
down  out  doors  across  the  yard,  on  one  knee,  and  I 
thought  he  was  taking  aim  at  something,  but  he  said  he 
was  doing  the  graces.  I  must  study  now.  Bubby  Short 
got  puftished  av  real  funny  way  at  school  to-day.  I  '11  tell 
you  next  time.  I  'm  in  a  hurry  to  study  now. 
Your  affectionate  Nephew, 

WILLIAM  HEXRY. 

P.  S.  Dorry  's  just  come  in.  He  and  Bubby  Short 
and  I  bought  "  Seraphine  "  some  wedding  presents  and 
he 's  done  'em  up  in  cotton-wool,  and  they  '11  come 
to  her  in  a  pink  envelope.  Dorry  sent  that  red-stoned 
ring  and  I  sent  the  blue-stoned.  We  thought  they'd  do 
for  a  doll's  bracelets.  Bubby  Short  sends  the  artificial 
rosebud.  He  likes  flowers,  —  he  keeps  a  geranium. 
We  bought  the  presents  at  the  Two  Betseys'  Shop. 
They  said  they  'd  do  for  bracelets.  Dorry  says,  "  Don't 
mention  the  price,  for  't  is  n't  likely  everybody  can  make 
such  dear  presents,  and  might  hurt  their  feelings."  We 
tried  to  make  some  poetry,  but  could  n't  think  of  but  two 

lines. 

When  you  're  a  gallant  soldier's  wife, 
May  you  be  happy  all  your  life ! 

Dorry  says  that 's  enough,  for  she  could  n't  be  any  more 
than  happy  all  her  life.  "  Can  too  ! "  W.  B.  said.  "  Can 
be  good  !  "  "  O,  poh  ! "  Bubby  Short  said  ;  "  she  can't 
be  happy  without  she  's  good,  can  she  ?  "  But  I  want  to 
study  my  lesson  now.  -ry  TT 

Those  bosom  shirts  are  the  best  things  I  ever  had. 

W.  H. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  193 

Although  it  would  have  been  a  vast  sacrifice,  I  think  I 
would  have  almost  given  my  best  pair  of  shoes  for  a  chance 
of  seeing  Billy  when  dressed  to  go  to  the  dancing-school.  A 
boy  in  his  first  bosom  shirt  is  such  an  amusing  sight.  You  can 
easily  pick  one  out  in  a  crowd  by  his  satisfied  air,  and  stiff' 
gait ;  by  the  setting  back  of  the  shoulders,  and  the  throwing 
out  of  the  chest,  —  as  if  that  smooth,  white,  starched  expanse 
did  not  set  out  enough  of  itself !  Some  have  a  way  of  look- 
ing up  at  gentlemen,  as  much  as  to  say,  We  wear  bosom 
shirts  !  But  of  course  those  of  us  boys  and  men  who  have 
passed  through  this  experience  remember  all  about  it. 


Lucy  Maria  to  William  Henry. 

DEAR  COUSIN,  — 

That  famous  wedding  came  off  yesterday  afternoon. 
There  were  fifteen  invited.  I  do  wish  I  had  time  to 
tell  you  all  about  it.  Mother  made  a  real  wedding- 
cake.  Georgie  has  hardly  slept  a  wink  for  a  week,  I 
do  believe,  thinking  about  it.  The  young  soldier  wore 
his  epaulets,  having  been  made  General  the  day  before. 
The  bride  was  dressed  in  pure  white,  of  course,  with  a 
long  veil,  of  course,  too.  and  orange  blossoms,  real 
orange  blossoms  that  I  made  myself.  The  presents  were 
spread  out  on  the  baby-house  table.  Perhaps  you  don't 
know  that  Georgie  has  a  baby-house.  It  is  made  of  a 
sugar-box,  set  up  on  end  papered  with  housepaper  inside, 
and  brown  outside.  It  has  a  down  below,  an  up  stairs, 
and  garret.  I  do  wish  I  had  time  to  tell  you  all  about 
the  wedding,  but  Matilda  's  a  churning,  and  1  promised 
to  part  the  butter  and  work  it  over,  if  she  would  fetch  it» 
I  do  wish  you  could  hear  her  singing  away,  — 

9  M 


194  THE  WILLIAM   IIKXRY   LETTERS. 

"  Come,  butter,  come !  come,  butter,  come  ! 
Peter  stands  at  the  gate,  waiting  for  his  buttered  cake. 
Come,  butter,  come  !  " 

Besides  the  baby-house  table,  the  presents  were  laid  on 
the  roof  of  the  baby-house.  There  were  sontags,  shoes, 
hats  and  feathers,  and  all  sorts  of  clothes,  the  rosebud, 
your  jewelry,  and  more  beside.*,  also  spoons,  dishes,  grid- 
irons, vases  and  everything  they  could  possibly  want,  to 
keep  house  with,  even  to  flatirons  and  a  cooking-stove. 
The  hands  of  the  happy  couple  were  fastened  together, 
and  they  stood  up  (there  was  a  pile  of  books  behind 
them).  Then  the  trouble  was,  who  should  be  the  min- 
ister ?  At  last  we  saw  that  funny  Dicky  Willis,  your 
old  crony,  peeping  in  the  window,  and  made  him  come 
in  and  be  the  minister.  He  was  just  the  right  one  for 
it.  He  charged  the  bridegroom  to  give  his  wife  every- 
thing she  asked  for,  and  keep  her  in  dry  kindlings,  and 
let  her  have  her  own  way,  and  always  wipe  his  feet,  and 
not  smoke  in  the  house,  and  never  find  fault ;  and 
charged  her  to  sew  on  his  buttons,  and  have  plum-pud- 
ding ofte*n,  and  let  him  smoke  in  the  house,  and  never 
want  any  new  clothes,  and  always  mind  her  husband, 
and  let  him  bring  in  mud  on  his  feet,  and  always  have 
a  smiling  face,  even  if  the  baby-house  was  a  burning 
down  over  their  heads,  and  then  pronounced  them  man 
and  wife.  I  could  fill  up  half  a  dozen  sheets  of  paper, 
if  I  had  time,  but  I  'm  afraid  of  that  butter.  Every- 
body shook  hands  with  them,  and  kissed  them,  and  the 
wedding-cake  was  passed  round,  and  then  the  children 

played 

"  Little  Sally  Waters,  sitting  in  the  sun, 
Crying  and  weeping  for  her  lost  one." 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  195 

In  the  midst  of  everything  Tommy  came  in  with 
Georgiana's  atlas,  and  said  he  'd  found  "  two  kick-cases." 
He  meant  those  two  black  hemispheres,  that  are  pictured 
out  in  the  beginning.  Mother  put  a  raisin  in  his  mouth, 
and  hushed  him  up.  The  happy  couple  have  gone  on 
a  wedding  tour  to  Susie  Snow's  grandmother's  country 
seat.  It  is  expected  that  they  will  live  half  the  time 
with  Georgie,  and  half  at  the  General's  head-quarters. 
But  their  plans  may  be  altered  ;  this  is  a  changing  world, 
and  a  young  couple  can't  always  tell  what 's  before  them. 
I  do  wish  you  'd  write  how  you  get  on  at  dancing-school, 
and  what  the  great  girls  wear,  about  my  age.  O  dear 
what  an  age  it  is  !  'T  is  dreadful  to  think  of !  'Most 
eighteen  !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anybody  being  so  old  ? 
Now  truly  I  'm  'most  ashamed  to  own  how  old  I  am.  Eigh- 
teen next  month  !  Hush,  don't  tell !  Keep  it  private  ! 
I  do  wish  I  could  grow  backwards,  and  grow  back  into  a 
baby-house  if  't  were  nothing  but  a  sugar-box.  I  do  long 
to  cut  my  hair  off  and  go  in  a  long-sleeved  tier,  and  I  've 
a  good  mind  to.  We  don't  think  you  made  a  very  good 
beginning.  Guess  your  Mr.  —  I  can't  think  of  his  name 
—  thought  there  was  need  enough  of  your  learning  to 
enter  a  room.  Mother  's  going  to  put  a  note  in  this  let- 
ter. I  Ve  made  her  promise  not  to  scold  you,  but  she  's 
got  something  particular  to  say.  Father  will  too.  I 
told  him  't  would  be  just  what  you  would  like,  one  of  his 
letters.  Matilda  says  the  butter  has  sent  word  it 's  com- 
ing. Write  soon. 

From  your  affectionate  Cousin, 

LUCY  MARIA. 

I  was  very  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  attend  the  wedding.     My 


196  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

present  was  half  a  do/en  holders.  The  woman  with  whom  I 
board  said  I  could  n't  give  a  bride  anything  more  useful. 
Her  little  daughter  made  them  for  me,  at  the  rate  of  two 
cents  apiece.  They  were  an  inch  wide,  and  all  had  loops  at 
the  corners. 

A  Note  from    Uncle  Jacob. 

HOW  ARE  YOU,  YOUNG   MAN  ? 

I  am  very  glad  you  go  to  dancing-school.  Boys,  as  a 
general  thing,  are  too  fond  of  study,  and  't  is  a  good  plan 
to  have  some  contrivance  to  take  their  minds  off  their 
books.  I  suppose  you  'd  like  to  know  what  is  going  on 
here  at  home.  Your  grandmother  sits  by  the  fire  knit- 
ting some  mittens  for  you  to  lose,  so  be  sure  you  do  it. 
[She  says,  tell  him  to  be  sure  when  he  goes  to  dancing- 
school  to  wear  his  overcoat.]  Your  aunt  Phebe  is  mak- 
ing jelly  tarts.  Says  I  can't  have  any  till  meal-time. 
[Tell  him  to  be  sure  and  get  cooled  off  some  before  he 
comes  away.]  Your  grandmother  can't  help  worrying 
about  that  dancing-school.  Matilda  is  picking  over  rai- 
sins for  the  pies.  She  won't  sit  very  close  to  me.  Now 
Tommy  has  come  in,  crying  with  cold  hands.  Lucy 
Maria  is  soaking  them  in  cold  water.  I  don't  doubt 
he  '11  get  a  tart.  Yes,  he  has.  First  he  cries,  and  then 
he  takes  a  bite.  [Tell  him  not  to  go  and  come  in  his 
slippers.]  Aunt  Phebe  says,  "  Now  there 's  William 
Henry  growing  up,  you  ought  to  give  him  some  advice." 
But  I  tell  her  that  a  boy  almost  in  his  teens  knows 
himself  what 's  right  and  what 's  wrong.  Now  Georgi- 
ana  has  come  in  crying.  Says  she  stepped  her  foot 
through  a  puddle  of  ice.  Grandmother  has  set  her  up 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  197, 

to  dry  her  foot.  Now  she  '11  get  a  tart,  I  suppose  !  Yes 
she  has.  [Tell  him  to  look  right  at  the  teacher's  feet.] 
That 's  good  advice  if  you  expect  to  learn  how.  Now 
your  aunt  says  I  'm  such  a  good  boy  to  write  letters 
she 's  going  to  give  me  this  one  that 's  burnt  on  the 
edge.  [Tell  him  to  brush  his  clothes  and  not  go  linty.J 
More  good  advice.  I  guess  now  I  've  got  the  tart  I 
won't  write  any  more.  Of  course  we  expect  you  to  do 
just  about  right.  If  you  neglect  your  studies  and  so 
waste  your  father's  money,  you  '11  be  an  ungrateful 
scamp.  If  you  get  into  any  contemptible  mean  ways, 
we  shall  be  ashamed  to  own  you.  Do  you  mean  to  do 
anything  or  be  anything  now  or  ever  ?  If  you  do,  't  is 

time  you  were  thinking  about  it. 

UNCLE'  JACOB. 

All  between  the  brackets  are  messages  from  your 
grandmother.  j  j-r 

A  Note  from  Aunt  Phebe. 

t 
DEAR  BILLY, — 

When  you  get  as  far  as  choosing  partners,  there  's  a 
word  I  want  to  say  to  you,  though,  as  you  're  a  pretty 
good  dispositioned  boy,  maybe  there  's  no  need  ;  still  you 
m;iy  not  always  think,  so  't  will  do  no  harm  to  say  it. 
There  are  always  some  girls  that  don't  dance  quite  so 
well,  or  don't  look  quite  so  well,  or  don't  dress  quite  so 
well,  or  are  not  liked  quite  so  well,  or  are  not  quite 
so  much  acquainted.  Now  I  don't  want  you  to  all  the 
time,  but  sometimes,  say  once  in  an  evening,  I  want 
you  to  pick  out  one  of  these  for  your  partner.  I 


198  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

know  't  is  n't  the  way  boys  do.  But  you  can  Sup- 
pose you  don't  have  a  good  time  that  one  dance.  You 
were  n't  sent  into  the  world  to  have  a  good  time  every 
minute  of  your  life  !  How  would  you  like  to  sit  still 
all  the  evening  ?  I  've  been  spectator  at  such  times, 
and  I  've  seen  how  things  go  on  !  Why,  if  boys  would 
be  more  thoughtful,  every  girl  might  have  a  good  time, 
besides  doing  the  boys  good  to  think  of  something  be- 
sides their  own  comfort.  If  I  were  you  I  would  n't  try 
to  make  fun,  but  try  to  learn,  for  though  your  father  was 
willing  you  should  go,  and  wants  to  do  everything  he 
can  for  you,  he  has  to  work  hard  for  his  money.  Lucy 
Maria  is  waiting  to  hear  how  you  get  on. 
Your  affectionate 

AUNT  PHEBE. 

William  Henry  to  Lucy  Maria. 

DEAR  COUSIN, — 

I  was  going  to  write  to  you  before,  how  I  was  getting 
along,  but  have  had  to  study  very  hard.  We  've  been 
five  times.  The  girls  wear  slippers  and  brown  boots  and 
other  colors,  and  white  dresses  and  blue  and  all  kinds, 
and  long  ribbons,  and  a  good  many  pretty  girls  go.  If 
girls  did  n't  go,  I  should  like  to  go  better.  I  mean  till 
we  know  how,  for  I  'd  rather  make  mistakes  when  only 
boys  were  looking.  And  I  make  a  good  many,  because 
he  says  I  don't  have  time  and  tune.  He  says  my  feet 
come  down  sometimes  right  square  athwart  the  time. 
So  I  watched  the  rest,  and  when  they  put  their  feet 
down,  I  did  mine.  But  that  was  a  stroke  too  late,  he 
said.  Said  "  time  and  tune  waits  for  no  man."  I  like 


THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LETTERS.  199 

to  promenade,  because  a  feller  can  go  it  some  then.  We 
learn  all  kinds  of  waltzes  and  redo  was  and  polkas.  I 
can  polka  with  one  that  knows  how.  Whirling  ronnd 
makes  me  light-headed  just  as  Grandmother  said.  But  I 
get  over  it  some.  We  are  going  to  do  the  German  at 
the  last  of  it.  The  worst  of  it  is  cutting  across  the  room 
to  get  your  partners.  He  calls  out  when  we  're  all 
standing  up  in  two  'rows,  "  First  gentleman  take  the 
first  lady  !  "  Now,  supposing  I  'm  first  gentleman,  I  have 
to  go  way  across  to  first  lady  with  all  of  'em  looking, 
and  fix  my  feet  right  way,  one  heel  in  the  other  hollow, 
and  then  make  my  bow,  and  then  she  has  to  make  that 
kind  of  kneeling-down  bow  that  girls  do,  and  then  we. 
wait  till  all  of  'em  get  across  one  by  one.  Then  we  take 
the  step  a  little  while,  and  then  launch  off  round  the 
hall,  polking,  or  else  get  into  quadrilles.  And  if  we  do  we 
make  graces  to  the  partners  and  the  corners.  I  like 
quadrilles  best,  because  you  can  hop  round  some  and 
have  a  good  time,  if  you  have  a  good  partner.  You  can 
dance  good  deal  better  with  a  good  partner.  Last  time 
I  had  that  one  the  fellers  call  "real  estate,"  because  you 
can't  move  her  she  don't  ever  get  ready  to  start,  and 
when  't  is  time  to  turn  stands  still  as  a  post. 

Dorry  and  I  practise  going  across  after  partners,  up 
in  our  room.  You  ought  to  've  seen  us  yesterday ! 
Dorry  was  the  lady.  If  he  did  n't  look  funny !  He 
fixed  the  table-cloth  off  the  entry  table,  to  make  it  look 
like  his  mother's  opera-cape,  and  fastened  a  great 
sponge  on  for  a  waterfall,  and  fizzled  out  his  hair,  and 
had  a  little  tidy  on  top  his  head,  and  that  red  bow  you 
sent  me  right  in  front  of  it.  Then  he  stood  out  by  the 


200  THE  .WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

window,  and  kept  looking  at  his  opera-cape,  and  araooth- 
ing  it  down,  and  poking  his  hair,  and  holding  his  hand- 
kerchief, the  way  girls  do,  and  kept  whispering,  or  mak- 
ing believe,  to  Bubby  Short,  the  way  girls  do.  Then  I 
went  across  and  made  my  bow,  and  he  made  that  kneel- 
ingHlown  bow,  and  then  we  tried  to  polka  redowa,  but 
our  boots  tripped  us  up,  and  we  could  n't  stand  up,  and 
laughed  so  we  tumbled  down,  and  did  n't  hear  anybody 
coming  till  he  knocked,  and  't  was  the  teacher,  come  to 
see  what  the  matter  was.  Not  Wedding  Cake,  but  Old 
Brown  Bread,  and  he  said  dancing  must  n't  be  brought 
into  our  studies,  and  scolded  more,  but  I  saw  his  eyes 
laughing,  looking  at  Dorry.  One  of  the  boys  tumbled 
down  stairs,  doing  the  graces  in  the  entry,  too  near  the  edge, 
and  it 's  forbidden  now.  Some  of  the  first-class  fellers 
put  up  a  notice  one  night  in  the  entry,  great  printed 
letters. 


That  owl  stands  for  Minerva.  I  couldn't  make  a  very 
good  one  because  I  'm  in  such  a  hurry  to  do  my  exam- 
ples. The  goddess  of  wisdom  used  to  be  named  Miner- 
va. She  was  painted  with  an  owl.  I  've  been  reading 
it  in  the  Classical  Dictionary.  Dorry  and  Bubby  Short 
and  I  have  ju>t  been  to  the  Two  Betseys  to  get  our 
gloves  sewed  up,  and  the  Other  Betsey  said  she  used  to 
dance  like  a  top.  Then  she  held  her  dress  up  with  her 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  201 

thumbs  and  fingers,  and  took  four  different  kinds  of  bal» 
ances.  Made  us  die  a  laughing,  she  hopped  up  and 
down  so. 

Your  affectionate  Cousin, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S,     That  TO  is  n't  left  out  in  the  notice,  it 's  my 
own  mistake. 

The  remaining  letters  were  probably  written  during  his 
last  term  at  the  school. 

Matilda's  Letter  to  William  Henry. 

DEAR  COUSIN,  — 

Lucy  Maria  keeps  telling  me  that  I  promised  to  write 
you  a  letter,  but  I  wish  I  had  n't  promised  to  write  you 
one,  because  I  don't  like  to  write  letters  very  well,  for  I 
can't  think  of  anything  to  write.  But  Lucy  Maria  she 
likes  to,  and  that  would  do  just  as  well  as  for  me  to.  But 
mother  says  I  ought  to  often,  so  as  to  get  me  in  the 
habit  of  it.  I  don't  have  very  much  time  to  write  very 
long  letters,  for  the  girls  are  getting  up  a  Fair,  and  I  am 
helping  do  the  old  woman  in  her  shoe,  and  gentlemen's 
pincushions,  and  presents  for  the  arrow  table,  where  the 
arrow  swings  round  and  points  to  your  present,  and  so  I 
don't  get  very  much  time  between  schools.  For  we  have 
to  write  compositions  every  week  now,  and  all  the  girls 
think  the  teacher  is  just  as  mean  as  he  can  be  to  make 
us.  We  want  he  should  take  off  some  of  the  composi- 
tions and  put  more  on  to  our  other  lessons ;  but  no.  He 
thinks  't  is  the  best  thing  we  can  do.  He  don't  care 
about  anything  else,  I  believe.  Susie  Snow  says  she 
9* 


202  THE   WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

believes  he 's  all  made  up  of  composition.  Our  next 
subject  is  "  Economy  "  and  we  've  got  to  put  in  time 
wasted,  and  health  wasted,  and  money  wasted.  Susie 
Snow  is  going  to  put  in  hers  that  girls  should  never 
waste  their  time  writing  compositions. 

I  wish  I  could  think  of  some  news  to  tell.  Lucy 
Maria  could  get  news  in  a  sandy  desert,  I  believe.  But 
she  don't  have  to  go  to  school,  Hannah  Jane  has  n't  got 
home  from  Aunt  Matilda's  yet  The  minister  and  his 
wife  and  all  his  children  have  been  here  to  spend  the 
day.  They  are  very  fond  of  jelly.  Mother  gave  them 
that  tall  gilt  tumbler  full,  that  Cousin  Joe  brought  home 
from  sea,  with  gilt  flowers  on  it.  'T  is  very  pleasant 
weather.  I  wish  you  'd  come  back  and  hoe  my  flower- 
garden,  the  weeds  are  thick  as  spatters,  and  I  don't  have 
much  time.  The  dog  stepped  on  my  sensitive  plant 
Some  of  my  seeds  have  n't  come  up.  Father  says  I 
better  go  down  after  them.  That  Root  of  Bliss  I  set 
out,  good  for  the  headache,  that  Cousin  Joe  brought  home 
from  the  island  of  Sumatra,  that 's  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean Sea,  or  else  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  the  hens 
scratched  up  four  times,  and  I  've  brought  it  in  the  house 
and  stuck  it  in  a  cigar-box.  Father  told  me  to  shake 
pepper  over  it  because  't  was  used  to  pepper  at  home, 
but  I  can't  tell  what  he  means  and  what  he  don't,  he  funs 
so.  Our  new  cow  hooks  down  rails  and  goes  where  she 
wants  to. 

O  Billy !  now  I  can  tell  you  some  news.  But  't  is 
quite  bad  news.  It  happened  two  weeks  ago.  We  all 
felt  very  sorry  about  it,  and  some  of  us  cried.  I  could  n't 
help  it.  You  know  our  cow  that  was  named  Reddie,  the 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  203 

one  we  raised  up  from  a  bossy-calf  with  milk-porridge 
till  't  was  big  enough  to  eat  grass  ?  Well,  she  got  in  the 
bog.  We  were  just  eating  supper.  Georgiana.  was  eat- 
ing supper  at  our  house  that  night.  Tommy  had  n't  got 
home  from  school,  and  we  were  all  wondering  where  he 
was.  Father  said  he  did  n't  doubt  he  'd  gone  to  find  his 
turtle.  He  had  a  turtle  that  got  loose  and  ran  away. 
Mother  was  just  saying  he  'd  have  to  have  cold  dip  toast 
for  his  supper,  for  she  makes  it  a  rule  not  to  keep  things 
about  for  him  when  he  don't  come  straight  home  to  his 
meals  He  'd  rather  play  than  eat,  'T  is  only  a  little 
school  he  goes  to.  Not  very  far  off.  Five  scholars, 
that  V  all.  Little  bits  of  ones.  But  I  must  tell  about 
our  cow. 

We  began  to  hear  a  great  screaming,  and  could  n't 
think  what  the  matter  was.  'T  was  Tommy.  And  next 
thing  be  came  running  through  the  yard,  crying  and  hol- 
lering both  together,  "  Father !  Father !  Cow  !  Reddie  !  " 
Much  as  he  could  do  to  speak.  Father  knew  in  a 
minute  what  't  was,  for  he  knew  she  was  pastured  close 
to  the  bog,  and  he  ran  and  we  all  ran,  and  Mr.  Snow 
and  some  other  men  that  found  it  out  came  with  us.  O 
poor  cow  !  She  was  in  more  than  half  way  up,  and 
making  dreadful  moaning  noises,  and  shook  her  head  and 
tried  to  stir,  but  every  stir  made  her  go  deeper  in.  Men 
and  boys  waded  in,  but  they  could  n't  do  anything. 

"  Rails  !  rails !  "  they  all  called  out,  and  we  pulled 
them  out  of  the  fences  and  they  tried  to  prise  her  up 
with  them,  but  the  bog  was  so  soft  she  sank  in  so  they 
could  n't  do  anything  with  her.  Much  as  they  could  do 
to  keep  up  themselves.  Mr.  Snow  was  prising  with  a 


204  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

rotten  rail,  and  it  broke,  and  he  went  down  in  the  wet. 
Old  Mr.  Slade,  that  goes  with  two  canes,  came  there 
bareheaded  and  sat  down  on  the  bank.  He  told  them  to 
go  get  some  boards.  There  were  n't  any,  any  nearer 
than  Mr.  John  Slade's  new  house,  and  that  was  too  far 
off,  and  father  said  't  was  too  late,  for  she  was  in,  then, 
up  to  the  top  of  her  back.  'Most  all  the  women  and 
girls  came  away  then,  for  we  couldn't  bear  to  stay  any 
longer  to  see  her  suffer.  She  kept  her  nose  pointed  up 
high  as  she  could,  and  her  eyes  looked  very  mournful 

In  the  morning  father  told  me  I  should  never  see 
Reddie  again.  They  got  her  up,  but  not  soon  enough. 
She  's  buried  now,  under  the  poplar-tree,  in  that  field  we 
bought  of  Mr.  Snow.  She  was  a  good,  gentle  cow,  and 
seemed  to  know  us.  Mother  says  she  seemed  like  one 
of  the  family.  Georgiana  about  spoiled  her  new  boots 
in  the  bog.  Our  new  cow  is  n't  the  best  breed,  but  she 's 
part  best.  The  cream  is  considerable  yellow,  but  not 
very.  She  gives  about  eight  or  nine  quarts.  Milk  has 
risen  a  cent.  Mother  declares  she  will  not  measure  her 
milk  in  that  new  kind  of  quart,  that  don't  hold  much 
over  a  pint.  Lucy  Maria  and  all  of  us  are  trying  to 
have  mother  go  get  her  picture  taken.  But  she  says  she 
can't  screw  her  courage  up,  and  can't  take  the  time. 
Your  father  says  he  wants  to  see  her  good  clever  face  in 
a  picture.  Too  bad  blue  eyes  take  light.  But  she  might 
be  taken  looking  down,  Lucy  Maria  says,  mending  Tom- 
my's trousers,  that  would  be  natural.  He  's  always 
making  barn-doors  in  his  trousers,  he  's  such  a  climbing 
fellow. 

L.  M.  and  I  have  most  earned  money  enough,  and 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  205 

father's  going  to  make  up  the  rest,  and  we  are  going  to 
hire  a  cheap  piano,  that  Mr.  Fry  told  us  about,  and  I  'm 
going  to  be  a  music  teacher,  I  guess.  I  'm  going  to  begin 
next  month.  I  shall  take  of  Miss  Ashley.  I  shall  have 
to  walk  a  mile.  O  goody !  goody !  dum,  dum,  dura  ! 
Sha'  n't  I  be  glad !  But  Susie  Snow  says  I  shall  sing 
another  tune  after  I  Ve  taken  a  little  while.  Father  says 
if  I  begin  to  take  I  must  go  through.  Says  I  must 
promise  to  practise  two  hours  a  day.  I  'd  just  as  soon 
promise  that  as  not.  'T  is  just  what  I  like.  Only  think, 
I  shall  have  a  piano  in  this  very  house.  Seems  if  I 
could  n't  believe  it !  I  can  play  for  you  to  dance. 
Wish  I  knew  how  to  dance.  Susie  Snow  has  come 
after  me  to  go  take  a  walk.  Now,  William  Henry,  you 
must  answer  this  letter  just  as  immediately  as  possible. 
From  your  affectionate  Cousin, 

MATILDA. 

P.  S.  Cousin  Joe  has  sent  me  a  smelling-bottle,  a  little 
gilt  one  he  brought  home,  that 's  got  ninety-four  different 
pmells  in  it.  Mother  is  writing  you  a  note-  She  says 
you  can't  dance  on  her  carpet.  Father  says  he  's  sorry 
he  did  n't  learn  the  graces,  and  means  to  when  you  come 
again.  We  can  dance  in  the  barn.  Tommy  has  just 
come  in.  He  says  he  knows  his  B  A  C's.  He  's  a 
funny  boy.  He  means  A  B  C's.  But  he  always  gets 
the  horse  before  the  cart.  One  day  we  tried  to  make 
conundrums,  and  Georgiana  made  this,  —  see  if  you  can 
answer  it :  Which  is  best,  to  have  plum-cake  for  suppei 
and  only  have  a  little  mite  of  a  piece,  or  cookies,  and 
have  as  many  as  you  want? 


206  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY   LITTERS. 

Georgiana's  kitty  has  just  jumped  over  the  fence. 
She  's  after  my  morning-glories  again.  Just  as  fast  as 
I  fasten  'em  up,  she  goes  to  playing  with  the  strings  and 
claws  'em  down  again.  Lucy  Maria  drew  a  picture  of 
her  doing  it.  ^ 

A  Note  from  Dorry. 

DEAR  WILLIAM  HENRY'S  GRANDMOTHER,  — 

William  Henry  wants  I  should  tell  you  not  to  be  scared 
when  you  see  another  boy's  handwriting  on  the  back  of 
this  letter,  and  not  to  think  he  's  got  cold,  or  got  anything 
else,  like  measles,  or  anything  of  that  kind,  and  not  to 
feel  worried  about  his  not  writing  for  so  long,  for  he  is  all 
right  except  the  first  joint  of  his  forefinger.  He  crooked 
that  joint,  or  else  uncrooked  it,  playing  base  ball.  'T  was 
a  heavy  ball  and  he  took  it  whole  on  that  joint,  and  't  is 
so  stiff  he  can't  handle  a  penholder.  He  thinks  you  will 
all  wonder  why  he  doesn't  write,  and  worry  about  his 
getting  sick  or  something,  but  he  never  felt  better.  Ap- 
petite very  good.  He  has  received  his  cousin  Matilda's 
letter,  and  will  answer  it  when  he  can.  He  wants  to 
know  what  she  'd  think  if  she  had  to  write  poetry  for 
composition.  Our  teacher  told  us  we  must  each  write 
one  verse  about  June.  I  put  three  of  them  in  for  you  to 
see,  but  don't  put  our  names. 

"  O  I  love  the  verdant  June, 

When  the  birds  are  all  in  tune, 

When  the  rowers  go  out  to  row, 

When  the  mowers  go  out  to  mow, 
O,  sweetly  smells  the  fragnint  hay, 
As  we  ride  on  the  load  and  stow  it  away." 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  207 

"  In  June  we  can  sail 
In  the  gentle  gale, 

On  the  waters  blue, 
And  catch  cod-fish 
That  make  a  good  dish, 

And  mackerel  too." 

"  In  June  the  summer  skies  are  clear, 
Anil  soon  green  apples  do  appear. 
And  though  they  're  hard  and  sour,  we  know 
That  every  day  they  '11  better  grow. 
This  teaches  us  that  boys,  also, 
Every  day  should  better  grow." 

P.  S.  He  wants  I  should  tell  you  't  is  tied  up  in  a  rag 
all  right  and  don't  hinder  his  studying.  Says  he  wishes 
his  cousin  Lucy  Maria  would  write  him  one  of  her  kind 
of  letters,  that  she  knows  how  to  write,  and  tell  what  they 
are  all  doing  and  what  they  talk  about,  and  when  his 
finger  is  well  he  will  answer  all  the  letters  they  will 
write  to  him. 

Very  respectfully, 

BILLY'S  FRIEND,  DORRY. 

Aunt  Phebe's  Note. 

MY  DEAR  BILLY, — 

Grandmother  worries  about  that  finger.  Do  ask  Dorry 
to  write  again,  or  else  take  the  penholder  in  your  mid- 
dle one,  though  we  mistrust  that 's  damaged,  or  you  'd 
have  written  before  this.  I  've  had  my  picture  taken 
and  send  you  one  to  keep.  Look  at  it  often,  and  if  you  've 
done  anything  wrong,  think  it  shakes  its  head  at  you ! 
Little  wrong  things,  or  big  ones,  all  the  same.  For  little 
wrongs  are  more  dangerous,  because  we  think  they  're  of 


208  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

no  account.  But  they  show  what 's  in  a  person,  same  as 
a  little  pattern  of  goods  tells  what  the  whole  piece  is. 
Show  me  half  an  inch  of  cotton  and  I  '11  tell  you  what 
color  the  whole  spool  is. 

I  'd  no  idea  of  having  my  picture  taken.  I  was  right 
in  the  heart  of  baking,  when  your  Uncle  J.  drove  up  and 
said  he'd  harnessed  up  on  purpose.  'T  was  all  a  con- 
trived plan  between  him  and  the  girls.  I  saw  them 
smiling  together  when  Mattie  brought  out  my  black 
alpaca.  I  thought  the  girls  seemed  mighty  ready  to 
take  hold  and  finish  up  the  baking.  But  he  got  caught 
in  his  own  trap,  for  Lucy  Maria  went  with  us,  to  make 
sure  my  collar  and  things  looked  fit  to  be  taken,  and  she 
set  her  foot  down  we  should  n't  leave  the  saloon  till  he  'd 
had  his,  for  she  was  going  to  have  a  locket  with  us  both 
inside,  and  I  had  to  be  done  over  small.  What  an  oper- 
ation it  is  to  have  your  picture  taken  !  If  we  could  only 
take  ether  and  be  carried  through  !  He  put  my  head  in 
a  clamp,  and  crossed  my  hands,  and  pinned  up  a  black 
rag  for  me  to  look  at,  and  told  me  to  look  easy  and  nat- 
ural, and  smile  a  very  little !  I  'm  sure  I  tried  to,  but 
your  Uncle  J.  says  't  is  a  very  melancholy  face,  and  Lucy 
Maria  says  the  cheek-bones  cast  a  shadow  !  Your  father 
says  the  worst  of  it  is,  it  does  look  like  me  !  I  think  it 's 
too  bad  to  make  fun  of  it,  after  all  I  passed  through! 
Your  Uncle  J.  took  things  easy  and  joked  with  the  man, 
and  was  laughing  when  the  cover  was  taken  off  and 
did  n't  dare  to  unlaugh,  he  says,  so  he  came  out  all 
right,  with  a  laughing  face,  as  he  always  is.  The  girls 
want  we  should  be  taken  large  and  hang  up,  side  by  side, 
in  two  oval  frames,  over  the  mantel-piece.  But  their 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  209 

father  says  he  sha'  n't  be  hung  up  alive,  if  he  can  help 
himself. 

It  is  n't  likely  I  shall  write  to  you  again  very  soon. 
Cousin  Joe  and  his  accordion  are  coming,  and  he  '11  bring 
his  sisters,  and  the  young  folks  about  here  know  them, 
and  I  expect  there  '11  be  nothing  but  frolicking.  Then 
there  '11  be  some  of  your  Uncle  J.'s  folks  after  that,  so 
you  see  we  '11  be  all  in  a  hubbub  and  I  shall  have  to  be 
the  very  hub  of  the  hubbub,  I  suppose.  Lucy  Maria  says, 
"  Tell  William  Henry  to  send  us  a  charade,  or  some- 
thing to  amuse  the  company  with."  Write  when  you  can. 

With  a  great  deal  of  love,  your  affectionate 

AUNT  PHEBE. 

P.  S.  Take  good  care  of  your  finger.  A  finger-joint 
would  be  a  great  loss.  I  think  cold  water  is  as  good  as 
anything.  Grandmother  wishes  you  had  some  of  her 
carrot  salve.  Let  us  hear  from  you  in  some  way. 
Grandmother  wants  to  know  if  the  Two  Betseys  don't 
make  carrot  salve. 

I  must  add  here  that  Lucy  Maria  was  not  the  girl  to  give 
up  those  pictures  in  "  two  oval  frames."  For  by  perse- 
verance, and  partly  with  my  assistance,  the  thing  was  secretly 
managed,  and  managed  so  well  that  Uncle  Jacob  actually  car- 
ried them  out  home  himself,  in  a  bundle  to  Lucy  Maria,  with- 
out knowing  it !  And  they  now  hang  in  triumph  over  the 
fireplace  in  the  "  girls'  chamber." 

Lucy  Maria  to  William  Henry. 
DEAR  BILLY, — 

'T  is  a  pity  about  that  forefinger.  Pray  get  it  well 
enough  to  handle  a  pen,  't  is  so  long  since  you  've  written. 


210  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

So  you  want  home  matters  reported.  Eatable  matters 
of  course  will  be  most  interesting.  Milk  and  butter, 
plenty.  Gingerbread  (plain),  ditto.  Gingerbread  (fancy), 
scarce.  Cookies,  quiet.  Plum-cake,  in  demand.  Snaps, 
lively.  Brown-bread,  firm.  White-bread  (sliced),  dull. 
Biscuits  (hot),  brisk.  Custard,  unsteady.  Preserves  not 
in  the  market. 

What  do  we  do,  and  what  do  we  talk  about  ?  Why, 
we  talk  about  our  cousin  William  Henry,  and  what  we 
do  can't  be  told  within  the  bounds  of  one  letter.  Think 
of  seven  cows'  milk  to  churn  into  butter,  besides  a  cheese 
now  and  then,  and  besides  working  for  the  extra  hands 
we  hire  this  time  b'  year !  I  should  have  written  to  you 
before,  when  we  first  heard  of  your  accident,  if  I  could 
have  got  the  time.  Hannah  Jane  is  away,  and  we  Ve 
let  Mattie  go  with  Susie  Snow  to  Grandma  Snow's  again 
for  a  few  days.  Grandma  Snow  likes  to  have  Mattie 
come  with  Susie,  for  't  is  rather  a  still,  dull  place.  So 
you  must  think  we  are  quite  lonesome  here  now,  and  we 
are,  especially  mother.  Father  tells  her  she  'd  better 
advertise  for  a  companion.  I  've  a  good  mind  to  adver- 
tise to  be  a  companion.  What  do  companions  do  ?  The 
old  lady  might  be  cross,  or  the  old  gentleman,  but  that 
would  n't  hurt  me,  so  long  as  I  kept  clever  myself.  Don't 
doubt  I  'd  get  fun  out  of  it  some  way.  There  's  fun  in 
about  everything  I  think. 

I  've  been  trying  to  get.  father  and  mother  to  go  to 
Aunt  Lucy's  and  stay  all  night.  But  father  thinks  there 
would  n't  be  anybody  to  shut  the  barn-door,  and  mother 
thinks  there  would  n't  be  anybody  to  do  anything,  though 
I  've  promised  to  scald  the  pans,  and  do  up  the  starched 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  211 

things,  and  keep  Tommy  out  of  the  sugar-bowl.  He 
takes  a  lump  every  chance  he  can  get.  Takes  after  his 
father.  Father  puts  sugar  on  sweetened  puddings,  if  moth- 
er is  n't  looking !  We  've  made  some  verses  to  plague 
Tommy,  and  when  Mattie  gets  her  piano,  they  're  going 
to  be  set  to  music. 

SONG. 
A  SWEET  TOMMY. 

As  turns  the  needle  to  the  pole, 
So  Tommy  to  the  sugar-bowl. 

Tra  la  la,  tra  la  la ! 

Sweet,  sweet  Tommy ! 

Tommy  always  takes  a  toll 
Going  by  the  sugar-bowl. 

Tra  la  la,  tra  la  la  ! 

Sweet,  sweet  Tommy ! 

Were  Tommy  blind  as  any  mole, 
He'd  always  find  the  sugar-bowl. 

Tra  la  la,  Tra  la  la  ! 

Sweet,  sweet  Tommy ! 

He  's  a  funny  talking  fellow.  We  took  him  into  town 
last  night,  to  see  the  illumination.  This  morning  we 
heard  him  and  Frankie  Snow  telling  Benny  Joyce  about 
it.  Father  and  I  were  listening  behind  the  blinds. 
Made  father's  eyes  twinkle.  Don't  you  know  how  they 
twinkle  when  he 's  tickled  ? 

"  You  did  n't  see  the  rumination  and  we  did ! "  we 
heard  Tommy  say. 

"  Rumination  ?    What 's  a  rumination  ?  "  asked  Benny. 

"  O  hoo !  hoo ! "  cried  Tommy.  "  Denno  what  a 
rumination  is ! " 


212  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

"  Why,"  said  Frankie,  "  don't  you  know  the  publicans  ? 
Wai,  that 's  it." 

"  O  poh  !  "  said  Benny.  "  Publicans  and  sinners !  I 
knew  they 's  coming  ! " 

"  And  soldiers  !  "  said  Frankie.  "  O  my  !  All  a 
marching  together ! " 

"  O  poh  ! "  said  Benny.  "  I  see  'em  go  by.  Paint- 
pots  on  their  heads,  and  brushes  in  'em  !  I  was  n't  goin* 
to  chase !  " 

"  Guess  nobody  would  n't  let  ye  ?  "  said  Frankie. 

"  Did  n't  either  !  "  cried  Tommy,  "  did  n't  have  paint- 
pots  !  " 

"  Did ! "  said  Benny.  "  Guess  my  great  brother 
knows ! " 

"  Guess  we  know,"  said  Frankie,  "  when  we  went !  " 

"  And  the  town  was  all  celebrated"  said  Tommy. 
And  the  houses  all  gloomed  up  !  And  horses  !  O  my  ! 

"  O  poh  !  "  said  Benny.  "  When  I  grow  up,  I  'm  goin' 
to  have  a  span  ! " 

If  mother  does  go,  she  '11  take  Tommy,  for  she  would  n't 
sleep  a  wink  away  from  him  over  night.  Father  pre- 
tends he  'd  go  if  he  had  a  handsome  span.  Says  he 
has  n't  got  a  horse  in  the  barn  good  enough  to  take 
mother  out  riding.  When  Mammy  Sarah  was  here  wash- 
ing, she  told  him  how  he  could  get  a  good  span.  You  know 
he's  always  joking  about  taking  summer  boarders.  Says 
Mammy  Sarah,  "  Now  't  is  a  wonder  to  me  you  don't  do 
it,  for  summer  boarders  is  as  good  as  a  gold-mine.  Money 
runs  right  out  of  their  pockets,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
catch  it."  She  says  we  could  make  enough  out  of  a 
couple  of  them,  in  a  month's  time,  to  buy  a  handsome 
span,  and  "he  is  n't  sure  but  the  harness. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  213 

I  think  we  begin  to  be  a  little  in  earnest  about  summer 
boarders.  For  we  have  rooms  enough,  in  both  houses 
together,  and  milk  and  vegetables,  and  mother  's  a  splen- 
did cook.  Mammy  Sarah  says,  "  They  ain't  diffikilt, 
and  after  they've  been  in  the  country  couple  of  weeks, 
they  don't  eat  so  very  much  more  than  other  folks." 

Father  says  he  wants  to  take  them  more  for  the  enter- 
tainment than  the  money.  He  wants  rich  ones,  but 
not  the  sensible  kind,  that  know  money  is  n't  the  only 
thing  worth  having.  Says  what  he  wants  is  that  silly, 
stuck-up  kind,  that  put  on  airs,  and  make  fools  of  them- 
selves, they  'd  be  so  amusing  !  Thinks  the  best  sort  for 
our  use  would  be  specimens  that  went  up  quite  sudden 
from  poor  to  rich,  like  balloons,  all  filled  with  gas.  I 
believe  there  'd  be  lots  of  fun  to  be  made  out  of  them. 
I  've  seen  one  or  two.  Gracious !  You  'd  think  they 
weren't  born  on  the  same  planet  with  poor  folks.  Moth- 
er 'd  rather  have  the  really  well-informed,  sensible  kind, 
that  we  may  learn  something  from  them.  A  couple  of 
each  would  be  just  the  thing.  How  do  you  like  mother's 
picture  ?  We  don't  feel  at  all  satisfied  with  it.  If  she 
could  only  be  taken  at  home !  Then  she  'd  look  natural. 
Father  says  the  world  is  going  ahead  so  fast,  he  believes 
the  time  will  come  when  every  family  will  have  its  own 
picture-machine,  much  as  it  has  its  own  frying-pan, 
Then  when  folks  have  on  their  best  expressions,  why,  clap 
it  right  before  them.  Then  they  '11  look  homish.  Says 
what  he  wants  is  to  have  mother's  face  when  she  's  just 
made  a  batch  of  uncommon  light  biscuits,  or  when  Tom- 
my 's  said  something  smart.  Won't  there  be  funny  pic- 
tures when  we  can  hold  up  a  machine  before  anybody  any 


214  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

minute,  like  a  frying-pan,  and  catch  faces  glad,  or  mad, 
or  sad,  or  any  way  ?  I  made  believe  take  Tommy's  and 
then  showed  them  to  him  on  a  piece  of  paper.  Guess 
I  '11  put  them  in  the  letter.  They  '11  do  to  amuse  you. 
I  draw  an  hour  or  so  every  day.  First,  I  have  to 
make  my  hour.  Sometimes  I  have  to  make  more.  For 
I  will  read  a  little,  if  the  world  stops  because  of  it.  But 
about  the  faces.  First  one  is  when  he  was  crying  be- 


cause he  could  n't  have  sugar  on  his  potatoes.  Next  one 
is  when  he  was  spunky  at  Frankie  Snow  for  bursting 
his  little  red  balloon.  The  pleased-looking  face  is  when 
father  brought  him  home  a  little  ship  all  rigged,  and  the 
laughing  one  is  when  the  cow  put  her  head  in  the  win- 
dow. We  tell  him  we  '11  have  them  framed  and  hung 
up  so  he  can  see  just  how  he  looks.  Mother  says  't  is 
all  very  well  to  laugh  at  Tommy,  but  she  guesses  some 
older  ones'  pictures  would  n't  always  look  smiling  and 
pleasant,  take  them  the  year  through  ! 

As  soon  as  your  finger  is  itself  again  do  write,  for  we 
miss  your  letters.  We  expect  to  have  gay  times  here 
this  summer.  Company  coming,  but  we  sha'  n't  make 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  215 

company  of  them.  Except  to  have  splendid  times.  What 
shall  we  do  evenings  ?  If  you  go  anywhere  where  there 
is  anything  going  on,  do  write  us  about  it,  so  we  can  go  on 
the  same  way.  When  are  you  coming  ?  Write  me  a 
good  long  letter  when  you  can. 

Your  affectionate  Cousin, 

LUCY  MARIA. 

Your  father  is  going  to  write  you  a  letter.  Quite 
wonderful  for  him.  O  William  Henry,  you  don't  know 
how  much  I  think  of  your  father,  and  what  a  good  man 
he  is  !  I  guess  you  'd  better  write  to  your  grandmother 
before  you  do  me  ;  she  's  so  pleased  to  have  you  write  to 
her. 

Father  wants  to  know  when  that  ball  hit  you  if  you 
bawled. 

Lucy  Maria's  "  picture-taker"  made  a  great  deal  of  fun  for 
them,  and  possibly  did  some  good.  She  constructed  a  queer 
long-handled  affair,  and,  at  the  most  unexpected  moments, 
this  would  be  thrust  before  the  faces  of  different  members  of 
the  family,  more  especially  Tommy,  Matilda,  or  Georgiana, 
and  their  "  pictures  "  would  be  sure  to  appear  to  them  soon 
after,  "glad,  or  mad,  or  sad,  or  any  way." 

And  the  plan  of  "  summer  boarders  "  also  furnished  enter- 
tainment. The  talk  on  this  subject  was  quite  amusing,  par- 
ticularly when  it  touched  the  subject  of  "  advertising."  Lucy 
Maria  suggested  this  ending :  — 

"None  but  the  silly,  or  the  really  well-informed  need  apply." 
But  Mr  Carver  thought  such  a  notice  would  fail  of  bringing 
a  single  boarder.  For  silly  people  did  not  know  they  were 
silly,  and  the  really  well-informed  were  the  very  last  ones  to 
think  themsflves  so. 


216  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

William  Henry  to  Aunt  Phebe. 
DEAR  AUNT  PHEBE,  — 

I  thank  you  for  taking  your  time  to  write  to  me,  when 
you  have  so  much  work  to  do.  My  forefinger  has  about 
recovered  the  use  of  itself.  The  middle  one  did  go  lame 
a  spell,  but  now  't  is  very  well,  I  thank  you.  Mrs.  Wed- 
ding Cake  did  them  up  for  me.  I  think  she  's  a  very 
kind  woman.  Dorry  says  he  'd  put  a  girdle  round  the 
earth  in  forty  minutes,  or  lay  down  his  life,  if  she  wanted 
him  to,  or  anything  else,  for  the  only  woman  he  knows 
that  will  smile  on  boys'  mud  and  on  boys'  noise. 

Ten  of  us  went  on  an  excursion  with  the  teacher,  half- 
price,  to  Boston,  and  had  a  long  ride  in  the  cars,  over 
forty  miles.  We  went  everywhere,  and  saw  lots  of  things. 
Went  into  the  Natural  History  building.  You  can 
go  in  for  nothing.  You  stand  on  the  floor,  at  the  bottom 
and  look  way  up  to  the  top.  All  round  inside  are  gal- 
leries running  round,  with  alcoves  letting  out  of  them, 
where  they  keep  all  sorts  of  unknown  beasts  and  birds 
and  bugs  and  snakes.  Some  of  those  great  birds  are  reg- 
ular smashers  !  'Most  dazzles  your  eyes  to  look  at  their 
feathers,  they  're  such  bright  red !  I  'd  just  give  a  guess 
how  tall  they  were,  but  don't  believe  I  'd  come  within  a 
foot  or  two.  Also  butterflies  of  every  kind,  besides  skel- 
etons of  monkeys  and  children  and  minerals  and  all  kinds 
of  grasses  and  seeds,  and  nuts  there  such  as  you  never 
cracked  or  thought  of!  They  are  there  because  they  are 
seeds,  not  berau-e  they  are  nuts.  And  there  's  a  cast  of 
a  great  ugly  monster,  big  as  several  elephants,  that  used 
to  walk  round  the  earth  before  any  men  lived  in  it. 
If  he  was  n't  a  ripper  !  Could  leave  his  hind  feet  on  the 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


217 


ground  and  put  his  fore  paws  up  in  the  trees  and  eat  the 
tops  off!  They  call  him  a  Megotharium  !  I  hope  he  's 
spelt  right,  though  he  ought  not  to  expect  it,  and  I  don't 
know  as  it  makes  much  difference,  seeing  he  lived  thou- 
sands of  years  before  the  flood,  and  lucky  he  did,  Dorry 
says,  for  the  old  ark  could  n't  have  floated  with  many  of 
that  sort  aboard.  He  was  n't  named  till  long  after  he  was 
dead  and  buried.  Patient  waiter  is  no  loser,  Dorry  says, 
for  he  's  got  more  name  than  the  ones  that  live  now,  and 
is  taken  more  notice  of.  We  saw  a  cannon-ball  on  the  side 
of  Brattle  Street  Church,  where  't  was  fired  in  the  Revo- 
lution, and  we  went  to  the  top  of  the  State  House. 
Made  our  knees  ache  going  up  so  many  steps,  but  it  pays. 
For  you  can  look  all  over  the  harbor,  and  all  round  the 
country,  and  see  the  white  towns,  and  steeples,  for  miles 
and  miles.  Boston  was  built  on  three  hills  and  the  State 
House  is  on  one  of  them.  I  can't  write  any  more,  now. 
W.  B.  has  left  school,  because  his  father  got  a  place 
for  him  in  New  York.  His  father  thought  he  was  old 
enough  to  begin.  He  's  a  good  deal  older  than  I  am. 
From  your  affectionate  Nephew, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 


10 


218  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

How  do  you  like  this  picture  of  that  great  Mego  —  I 
•won't  try  to  spell  him  again  —  eating  off  the  tree-tops  ? 
The  leaves  on  the  trees  then  were  different  from  the  ones 
we  have  now.  Dorry  made  the  leaves,  and  I  made  the 
creature. 

A  Letter  to  William  Henry  from  his  Father. 

MY  DEAR  SON,  — 

Perhaps  you  have  thought  that  because  I  am  rather  a 
silent  man,  and  do  not  very  often  write  you  a  letter,  that 
I  have  not  very  much  feeling  and  do  not  take  interest  in 
you.  But  no  one  knows  how  closely  I  am  watching  my 
boy  as  Time  is  bringing  him  up  from  boyhood  to  manhood. 

Sometimes  your  grandmother  worries  about  your  being 
where  there  may  be  bad  boys ;  but  I  tell  her  that  among 
so  many  there  must  be  both  good  and  bad,  and  if  you 
choose  the  bad  you  show  very  poor  judgment.  I  think 
if  a  boy  picks  out  bad  companions  it  shows  there  is 
something  bad  in  himself. 

She  says  I  ought  to  keep  giving  you  good  advice,  now 
you  are  just  starting  in  life,  and  charge  you  to  be  honest 
and  truthful  and  so  forth.  I  tell  her  that  would  be  some- 
thing as  it  would  be  if  you  were  just  starting  on  a  pleasant 
journey,  and  I  should  say,  "  Now,  William  Henry,  don't 
put  out  your  own  eyes  at  the  beginning,  or  cut  the  cords 
of  your  legs  !  "  Do  you  see  what  I  mean  ?  A  boy  that 
is  not  honest  and  truthful  puts  out  his  own  eyes  and  crip- 
ples himself  at  the  very  beginning. 

There  is  a  good  deal  said  about  arriving  at  honor  and 
distinction.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  about  arriving  at 
honor.  I  want  you  to  take  honor  to  start  with.  And  as 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  219 

for  distinction,  a  man,  in  the  long  run,  is  never  distin- 
guished for  anything  but  what  he  really  is.  So  make 
up  your  mind  just  what  you  want  to  pass  for,  and  be  it. 
For  you  will  pass  for  what  you  are,  not  what  you  try  to 
appear.  Go  into  the  woods  and  see  how  easily  you  can 
tell  one  tree  from  another.  You  see  oak  leaves  on  one, 
and  you  know  that  is  oak  all  the  way  through.  You  see 
pine  needles  on  another,  and  you  know  that  is  pine  all 
the  way  through.  A  pine-tree  may  want  to  look  like  an 
oak,  and  try  to  look  like  an  oak,  and  think  it  does  look 
like  an  oak,  as  it  can't  see  itself.  But  nobody  is  cheated. 
So  a  rascally  fellow  may  want  to  appear  fair  and  honest, 
and  try  to  appear  fair  and  honest,  and  think  he  does  ap- 
pear fair  and  honest,  as  he  can't  see  himself.  But,  in  the 
long  run,  nobody  is  cheated.  For  you  can  read  a  man's 
character  about  as  easy  as  you  can  the  leaves  on  the  trees. 
Sometimes  I  sit  down  in  a  grocery  store  and  hear  the 
neighbors  talked  about,  and  't  is  curious  to  find  how  well 
everybody  is  known.  It  seems  as  if  every  man  walked 
round,  labelled,  as  you  may  say,  same  as  preserve  jars 
are  labelled,  currant,  quince,  &c.  Only  he  don't  know 
what  his  label  is.  Just  as  likely  as  not  a  man  may  think 
his  label  is  Quince  Marmelade,  when  't  is  only  Pickled 
String  Beans  ! 

Just  so.  with  boys.  Grown  folks  notice  boys  a  great 
deal,  though  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  never  knew  they  did. 
The  little  affairs  of  play-time  and  school-time,  and  their 
home-ways  are  all  talked  over,  and  by  the  time  a  boy  is 
twelve  years  old,  it  is  pretty  well  known  what  sort  of  a 
man  he  will  make. 

Now  don't  mistake  my  meaning.     I  don't  want  you  to 


220  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

be  true  because  people  will  know  it  if  you  are  not,  but 
because  it  is  right  and  noble  to  be  so.  I  want  you  to  be 
able  to  respect  yourself.  Never  do  anything  that  you 
like  yourself  any  the  less  for  doing. 

A  boy  of  your  age  is  old  enough  to  be  looking  ahead 
some,  to  see  what  he  is  aiming  at.  I  don't  suppose  you 
want  to  drift,  like  the  sea-weed,  that  lodges  wherever  the 
waves  toss  it  up !  Set  up  ycur  mark,  and  a  good  high 
one.  And  be  sure  and  remember  that,  as  a  general  thing, 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  luck.  If  a  man  seems  to  be  a 
lucky  merchant,  or  lawyer,  or  anything  else,  't  is  because 
he  has  the  talent,  the  industry,  the  determined  will,  that 
make  him  so.  People  see  the  luck,  but  they  don't  always 
see  the  k<  taking  pains  "  that 's  behind  it.  I  remember  you 
wrote  us  a  letter  once,  and  spoke  of  a  nice  house,  with 
nice  things  inside,  that  you  meant  to  have  by  "  trying 
hard  enough."  There  's  a  good  deal  in  that.  We  've 
got  to  try  hard,  and  try  long,  and  try  often,  and  try  again, 
and  keep  trying.  That  house  never  '11  come  down  to  you. 
You  've  got  to  climb  up  to  it,  step  by  step.  I  don't  know 
as  I  have  anything  to  say  about  the  folly  of  riches.  On 
the  contrary,  I  think  't  is  a  very  good  plan  to  have  money 
enough  to  buy  books  and  other  things  worth  having.  I 
don't  see  why  a  man  can't  be  getting  knowledge  and 
growing  better,  at  the  same  time  he  is  growing  richer. 
Some  poor  folks  have  a  prejudice  against  rich  folks.  I 
have  n't  any.  Rich  people  have  follies,  but  poor  people 
copy  them  if  they  can.  That  is  to  say,  we  often  see  poor 
people  making  as  big  fools  of  themselves  as  they  can, 
with  the  means  they  have.  Money  won't  hurt  you,  Billy, 
so  long  as  you  keep  common  sense  and  a  true  heart. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  ,    221 

We  are  all  watching  you  and  thinking  of  you,  here  at 
home.  If  you  should  go  wrong  't  would  be  a  sad  blow 
for  both  families.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you  how  I 
feel  towards  you,  and  how,  ever  since  your  mother's  death, 
my  heart  has  been  bound  up  in  you  and  Georgie.  You 
would  then  know  what  a  crushing  thing  it  would  be  to 
me  if  you  were  found  wanting  in  principle.  But  I  am 
not  very  good,  either  at  talking  or  writing,  so  do  remem- 
ber, dear  boy,  that  even  when  I  don't  say  a  word,  I  'm 
thinking  about  you  and  loving  you  always.  God  bless 
you  ! 

From  your  affectionate 

FATHER. 

W.  B.,  it  seems,  from  his  own  account,  set  sail  on  the  great 
sea  of  commerce  with  Hying  colors,  and  favorable  winds, — 
probably  the  Trade-winds. 

Old  Wonder  Boy  to  William  Henry. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  — 

I  like  my  place,  and  think  it  is  a  very  excellent  one. 
It  is  "  Veazey  &  Summ's."  When  you  get  a  place  it  is 
my  advice  that  you  should  procure  one  in  New  York,  as 
New  York  is  greatly  superior  to  Boston.  Boston  is  a  one- 
horse  place.  I  would  n't  be  seen  riding  in  that  slow 
coach.  Washington  Street  could  be  put  whole  into  Broad- 
way, and  not  know  it  was  there  hardly,  for  you  could  travel 
both  sides  and  all  round  it.  Our  store  is  a  very  excellent 
store.  Some  consider  it  greatly  superior  to  Stewart's. 
All  our  clerks  dress  in  very  superior  style  and  go  in  very 
good  society,  and  so  I  learn  to  use  very  good  language. 
We  keep  boys  to  do  the  errands,  and  porters.  All  the 


222  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

stylish  people  do  their  trading  here.  The  young  ladies 
like  to  trade  with  me  very  much.  The  New  York  ladies 
are  greatly  superior  to  any  other  ladies.  The  firm  think 
a  great  deal  of  me,  so  I  expect  to  be  promoted  quite  fast. 
I  am  learning  to  smoke.  I  have  got  a  very  handsome 
pipe.  The  head  clerk  thinks  it  has  got  a  very  superior 
finish  to  it.  We  two  are  quite  thick.  How  are  all  the 
fellers  ?  "Write  soon.  Remember  me  to  all  inquiring 
friends,  and  excuse  handwriting. 

Your  friend, 

WALTER  BRIESDEN. 

William  Henry  to  Matilda. 

DEAR  COUSIN,  — 

Now  I'm  going  to  answer  your  letter,  and  then  I 
aha'  n't  have  to  think  about  it  any  longer.  I  was  sorry 
to  hear  about  poor  Reddie.  But  if  it  had  been  Tommy, 
then  it  would  have  been  a  great  deal  worse.  Think  of 
that.  Dorry  and  I  have  been  wishing  'most  a  week  about 
something,  and  now  I  '11  tell  you  what  't  is  about.  About 
a  party.  'T  is  going  to  be  at  Colonel  Grey's.  He  lives 
in  a  large  light-colored  brick  house,  with  a  piazza  round  it, 
and  a  fountain,  and  bronze  dogs,  and  everything  lovely. 
It  is  Maud  Grey's  birthday  party.  Sixteen  years  old. 
Old  and  young  are  going  to  be  invited,  because  her  little 
sister's  birthday  comes  next  day  to  hers.  Now  sometimes 
when  there  's  a  party  some  of  the  biggest  of  our  fellows 
get  invited,  because  there  are  not  very  many  young  gen- 
tlemen in  town,  and  they  are  glad  to  take  some  from  the 
school.  But  we  two  never  have  yet.  But  Dorry  thinks 
we  stand  a  better  chance  now,  for  we  've  been  to  dancing- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  223 

school,  and  will  do  to  fill  up  sets  with.  Maud  Grey 
did  n't  go  as  a  scholar,  but  she  went  spectator  sometimes, 
and  took  my  partner's  place  once,  when  her  string  of 
beads  broke.  Dorry  was  in  the  same  set.  I  never 
polkaed  better  in  my  life,  for  she  took  me  round  and  made 
me  keep  time  whether  I  wanted  to  or  not,  but  I  told 
Dorry  I  felt  just  like  a  little  boy  that  had  been  lifted  over 
a  puddle.  He  's  afraid  she  won't  remember  us,  but  I 
guess  I  'm  afraid  she  will,  and  then  won't  invite  such  a 
bad  dancer.  We  two  thought  we  'd  walk  by  the  house, 
just  for  fun,  and  make  ourselves  look  tall.  So  we  held  up 
our  chins,  and  swung  two  little  canes  we  'd  cut,  going 
along,  for  small  chaps  are  plenty  enough,  but  young  gen- 
tlemen go  off  to  college,  or  stores,  soon  's  they  're  of  any 
size.  The  blinds  were  all  shut  up,  but  Dorry  said  there 
was  hope  if  the  slats  were  turned  the  right  way.  Blind 
slats  here  move  all  ways.  Yesterday,  in  school-time,  I 
saw  a  colored  man  coming  towards  the  school-house,  and 
thought 't  was  Cicero,  the  one  that  works  for  Colonel  Grey, 
coming  with  the  invitations,  and  made  a  loud  "  hem ! " 
for  Dorry  to  look  up,  and  a  hiss,  to  mean  Cicero,  and 
pointed  out  doors.  'T  was  n't  very  loud,  but  that  one  we 
call  Brown  Bread,  that  has  eyes  in  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  ears  all  over  him,  and  smells  rat  where  there  is  n't 
any,  and  wears  slippers,  so  you  can't  hear  him,  even  if 
't  is  still  enough  to  drop  a  pin,  —  I  thought  he  was  over 
the  other  side  of  the  room,  tending  to  his  own  affairs,  but 
all  of  a  sudden  he  was  standing  just  back  of  me,  and  I 
had  to  lose  a  recess  just  for  that.  And  't  was  n't  Cicero 
after  all,  but  the  one  that  comes  after  the  leavings. — 
(Somebody  knocks.) 


224  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Afternoon.  —  Hurrah !  We  're  going !  The  one  that 
knocked  at  the  door  was  Spicey,  with  our  invitations. 
When  I  come  home  I  '11  bring  them  home  to  show. 
They  came  through  the  post-office.  We  expect  they 
all  came  to  the  professor,  with  orders  to  pick  out  the 
ten  tallest  ones,  for  they  are  directed  in  his  writing. 
I  never  went  to  such  a  party,  and  should  n't  know 
how  to  behave,  if  't  was  n't  for  Dorry.  First  thing 
you  do  is  to  go  up  and  speak  to  the  lady  of  the 
house  and  the  lady  of  the  party.  I  mean  after 
you  've  been  up  stairs,  and  looked  in  the  looking-glass 
and  smoothed  down  your  hair.  Mine  always  comes  up 
again.  I  've  tried  water  and  I  've  tried  oil,  and  I  've 
tried  beef-marrow,  but 't  is  bound  to  come  up.  Dorry 
says  I  ought  to  put  it  in  a  net.  Don't  you  remember 
that  time  I  had  my  head  shaved  off  close,  and  how  it 
looked  like  an  orange  ?  I  'm  glad  't  is  n't  so  red  as  it  was. 
'T  is  considerable  dark  now.  When  you  come  down  you 
walk  up  to  the  lady  of  the  house  and  say  "  How  do  you 
do?"  and  shake  hands,  and  when  you  go  home  you  have 
to  bid  her  good-night,  and  say  you'Ve  had  a  very  pleas- 
ant time,  and  shake  hands  again.  Not  shove  out  your 
fist,  as  if  you  were  shoving  a  croquet-ball,  but  slow,  with 
the  fingers  about  straight,  and  not  speak  it  out  blunt,  as 
if  you  were  singing  out  "  good-night ! "  to  the  fellers,  but 
quite  softly  and  smiling.  Dorry 's  been  showing  me  be- 
forehand. Bubby  Short  stood  up  in  the  floor,  and  had 
the  bed-spread  tied  round  him  with  a  cod-line,  for  a  trail, 
and  shavings  for  curls.  He  was  the  lady  of  the  house 
and  we  walked  up  to  him,  and  said,  "  How  do  you  do, 
Mrs.  Grey  ?"  and  so  forth.  Dorry  drew  this  picture  of 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY'  LETTEBS.  225 


us.     He  draws  better  than  I  do.     I  will  write  about  the 

party. 

From  your  Cousin, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

William  Henry  to  his  Grandmother. 

MY  DEAR  GRANDMOTHER,  — 

Now  if  you  will  be  a  good  little  grandmother,  and 
promise  never  to  worry  any  more,  then  I  '11  tell  you  about 
that  party.  We  had  to  wear  white  gloves.  I  '11  begin 
at  the  outside.  The  piazzas  had  colored  lights  hang- 
ing round  them,  and  there  were  colored  lights  hung 
in  the  trees  and  the  gateways.  'T  was  a  foggy  night, 
and  those  colored  lights  lighted  up  the  fog  all  around,  so 
when  you  came  towards  the  place  it  looked  just  like  a 
great  bright  spot  in  the  midst  of  darkness.  There  was 
a  tall  lady,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  a 
splendid  dress  on,  dragging  way  behind  her,  and  I  went 
right  up  to  her,  and  just  got  my  foot  the  way  Mr.  Tornero 
told  us,  and  the  palm  of  my  hand  right,  when  Dorry 
10*  o 


226  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


jerked  me  back  by  my  jacket  and  said  she  was  n't  the 
right  one.  You  see  we  got  belated,  going  back  after  our 
clean  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  hurried  so  that  Dorry 
fell  down  and  muddied  his  trousers'  knees,  but  lucky 
't  was  close  to  the  Two  Betseys'  shop,  for  we  went  in 
there  and  got  sponged  up,  but  we  had  to  wait  for  'em  to 
dry.  Lame  Betsey  said  she  used  to  take  care  of  Maud 
Grey  when  she  was  a  little  scrap,  and  she  wanted  to  make 
her  a  birthday  present.  So  they  both  hunted  round,  to 
see  if  they  had  anything.  In  the  desk  they  found  a  little 
thin  book,  a  funny-looking  old  blue-covered  book,  "  Ad- 
vice to  a  Young  Lady,"  that  was  given  to  Lame  Betsey 
when  she  was  young.  The  title  was  on  the  blue  cover. 
'T  was  a  funny-looking  thing  and  it  smelt  snuffy.  She 
asked  me  to  give  it  to  Maud,  after  she  'd  written  her 
name  in  it.  I  tell  you  now  Lame  Betsey  makes  quite 
good  letters  !  I  did  n't  want  to  take  the  book,  but  I  did, 
for  both  Betseys  are  clever  women. 

All  this  was  the  reason  we  got  belated,  and  Mrs.  Grey 
had  got  mixed  up  with  the  other  people,  but  we  found 
her  and  did  the  right  thing  by  her.  And  Maud  too. 
I  don't  think  any  of  you  would  believe  that  I  could  be- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  227 

have  so  well !  so  polite  I  mean.     Course  I  did  n't  feel 
bashful  any  !     O  no ! 

They  had  four  pieces,  and  they  played  as  if  they 
knew  how.  I  did  n't  dance  at  the  first  of  it.  Did  n't  dare 
to.  'T  was  too  light  there.  The  carpets  were  covered 
with  white.  Then  chandeliers,  and  lamps,  and  wax  can- 
dles, and  flowers  everywhere  they  could  be,  set  up  in 
vases,  —  one  lady  called  vases,  varzes,  —  and  hanging- 
baskets.  I  never  was  in  such  a  beautiful  place.  The 
ladies  sang  at  the  piano,  and  the  young  gentlemen 
turned  their  leaves  over.  O  you  ought  to  've  heard  'em 
when  the  tunes  went  up,  up,  up !  Enough  to  make  you 
catch  your  breath  !  Seemed  as  if  it  could  never  get 
down  again.  I  don't  like  that  kind.  But  Dorry  said 
't  was  opera  style  and  nobody  was  to  blame  but  me,  if  I 
did  n't  like  it.  Now  John  Brown's  Body,  I  like  that,  and 
when  they  all  sang  that,  I  joined  right  in,  same  as  any 
of  them.  For  I  knew  I  knew  that  tune.  But  first  one 
looked  round  at  me,  and  then  another  looked  round  at 
me,  as  if  something  was  the  matter.  I  thought  I  saw 
'em  smiling.  Then  I  kept  still.  But  I  did  n't  know  I 
was  singing  wrong.  O,  I  do  wish  I  knew  what  this  sing- 
ing is !  Seems  easy  enough.  Now  when  the  tune  goes 
up  loud,  I  go  up  loud,  and  when  that  goes  down  low,  I 
go  down  low.  But  Dorry  says  it  is  n't  singing.  Says 
'tis  discord.  But  I  can't  tell  discord  from  any  other 
cord,  and  he  says  the  harder  I  try,  the  worse  noise  I 
make.  I  do  wish  I  could  roar  out  that  Glory  Hallelu- 
jah !  for  I  feel  the  tune  inside  of  me,  but  it  never  comes 
out  right.  Dorry  laughs  when  I  set  out  to  sing.  He 
says  I  chase  the  tune  up  and  down  all  the  way  through, 


228  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

and  never  hit  it !  Now,  if  't  is  right  inside,  why  can't  it 
come  out  right  ?  I  don't  see  ! 

We  went  into  a  large  room  to  eat  refreshments,  and  I 
wish  Aunt  Phebe  could  see  the  things  we  had.  And 
taste  of  them  too.  I  saved  the  frosting  off  my  cake  for 
Tommy.  'T  is  wrapped  up  in  a  paper  in  my  trunk. 
'T  is  different  from  your  frosting,  good  deal  harder.  I 
had  a  sort  of  funny  time  in  that  room.  Somebody  had 
to  hit  my  elbow  when  I  was  passing  custard  to  a  girl, 
and  joggled  over  a  mess  of  it  on  to  her  white  dress  and 
my  trousers.  I  whipped  out  my  pocket-Kandkerchief  to 
sop  it  up,  and  whipped  out  that  little  blue  book.  Some- 
body picked  it  up,  and  one  young  man,  that  had  been 
cutting  up  all  the  evening,  Maud  Grey's  cousin,  he  got 
hold  of  it  and  read  her  name  and  called  out  to  her  to 
come  get  her  present,  and  made  a  good  deal  of  fun  about 
it,  and  began  to  read  it  loud.  She  wanted  to  know  who 
brought  it,  and  somebody  told  her  I  was  the  one.  I  be- 
gan to  grow  red  as  fire,  but  all  of  a  sudden  I  thought, 
Now,  Billy,  what 's  the  use  ?  So  I  said  very  plain, 
"  Miss  Grey,  Lame  Betsey  sent  you  that  book."  She 
did  n't  laugh  very  much,  only  smiled  and  asked  me  to 
tell  Lame  Betsey  she  was  glad  that  she  remembered  her. 
Guess  she  thought  I  looked  bashful,  for  afterwards  she 
asked  me  if  I  would  n't  try  a  polka  with  her.  I  don't 
think  she 's  very  proud,  for  when  I  was  looking  at  a 
painted  vase,  she  came  and  told  me  how  it  was  done, 
for  all  I  was  n't  much  acquainted  with  her.  She 
talked  to  me  as  easy  and  sociable  as  if  she  'd  been 
Lucy  Maria. 

A  company  of  us  got  together  in  one  of  the  rooms 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  229 

and  ate  our  ice-creams  there,  and  while  we  were  eating 
them,  we  beheaded  words.  Lucy  Maria  must  read  this 
letter,  for  she  '11  want  to  know  how.  When  you  behead 
a  word  you  take  off  the  first  letter.  It 's  fun,  when 
you  get  beheading  them  fast.  The  spelling  must  n't  be 
changed.  Dorry  made  some  of  these.  I  did  n't.  I 
could  n't  think  fast  enough. 

Behead  an  article  of  dress,  and  you  leave  a  farming 
tool. 

Shoe  —  hoe. 

I  '11  put  the  rest  of  the  answers  at  the  bottom,  so  as  to 
give  all  of  you  a  chance  to  guess  what  they  are. 

1.  Behead  what  leads  men  to  fight,  and  you  leave  the 
cause  of  much  misery,  sin,  and  death. 

2.  Behead  what  young  ladies  are  said  to  be  fond  of, 
and  you  leave  a  young  lady. 

3.  Behead  what   comes  nearest   the    hand,  and   you 
leave  what  comes  nearest  the  heart. 

4.  Behead  something  sweet,  and  it  leaves  an  address 
to  the  sweet. 

5.  Behead  part  of  a  coach,  and  you    leave  part  of 
yourself.     Behead  that,  and  you  leave  a  fish. 

6.  Behead  a  rogue,  and  you  leave  a  musician. 

7.  Behead  an  old-fashioned  occupation,  and  you  leave 
what  prevents  many  a  parting. 

8.  Behead  a  part  of  ladies'  apparel,  and  you  leave 
what  is  higher  than  the  king. 

9.  Behead  what  always  comes  hard,  and  you  leave 
what  makes  things  go  easy. 

10.  Behead  a  weapon,  and  you  leave  a  fruit.     Behead 
that,  and  you  leave  part  of  the  body. 


230  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

1.  Drum,  rum.  G.  Sharper,  harper. 

2.  Glass,  lass.  7.  Spin,  pin. 

3.  Glove,  love.  8.  Lace,  ace. 

4.  Molasses,  O  Lasses  !  9.  Toil,  oil. 

5.  Wheel,  heel,  eel.  10.  Spear,  pear,  ear. 

Sometimes  they  make  them  in  rhyme. 

Behead  what  is  born  in  the  fire, 

And  lives  but  a  moment  or  so,  — 

For  it  can't  live  long  you  know,  — 
And  you  leave  what  all  admire. 

Where  grass  so  green  doth  grow, 

And  trees  in  many  a  row. 
Behead  this  last,  and  you  leave  in  its  place 
What  once  preserved  the  human  race. 

Spark,  park,  ark. 

Behead  a  musical  term  so  sweet, 

And  you  leave  what  runs  without  any  feet 

Behead  again,  and,  sad  to  tell, 

You  leave  what  is  sick  and  never  gets  well. 
To  what  is  left  add  the  letter  D, 
And  you  have  a  lawyer  of  high  degree. 

Trill,  rill,  ill.     "  LL.  D." 

I  've  got  something  a  good  deal  funnier  to  tell,  but 
I  'm  going  to  write  all  about  that  in  Lucy  Maria's 
letter.  I  guess  she  '11  be  very  glad  when  she  gets  that 
letter,  for  't  will  tell  her  how  to  do  something  very  funny. 
I  will  send  her  the  story  of  it  too,  so  she  won't  have  to 
make  up  anything  herself.  Don't  you  think  I  had  a 
pretty  good  time  ?  I  hope  my  sister  is  well,  and  hope 
you  all  are.  Lucy  Maria  must  read  this  letter.  She 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  231 

could  make  those  beheadings  quicker 'n  lightning.      I 
am  well.     Don't  believe  I  shall  ever  be  sick. 
From  your  affectionate  Grandson, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  I  've  been  to  a  lecture  on  good  health.  The 
man  said  there  were  two  parts  to  the  air,  a  good  part 
and  a  poison  part,  and  every  time  we  breathe  we  keep 
in  the  good  part,  and  breathe  out  the  poison  part.  So 
if  a  room  were  sealed  up,  air-tight,  a  man  living  in  it 
would  soon  die,  for  he  would  use  up  all  the  good  part 
and  leave  the  poison  part.  So  we  ought  to  always  let 
fresh  air  in,  that  has  n't  been  breathed.  He  says  in  a 
crowded  room,  if  there  is  no  fresh  air  coming  in,  we 
have  to  use  over  what  other  folks  have  breathed, 
whether  they  are  sick  or  well.  ™-  „ 

What  with  our  young  friend's  frequent  visits  to  the  Two 
Betseys,  his  attendance  at  the  dancing-school,  and  going  to 
parties  and  to  lectures,  it  would  seem  as  though  his  time  was 
not  wholly  taken  up  with  his  studies.  Among  William 
Henry's  letters  to  Lucy  Maria  1  find  the  following  one  about 
the  Dwarf,  and  with  it,  in  Lucy  Maria's  handwriting,  I  find 
a  copy  of  the  Narrative  alluded  to. 

William  Henry  to  Lucy  Maria. 

% 
DEAR  COUSIN,  — 

I  guess  you  will  want  to  know  how  this  was  done,  that 
I  'm  going  to  write  about,  so  I  will  tell  you  about  it,  then 
you  will  know  how  to  make  one  out  of  Tommy,  but  I 
guess  a  bigger  boy  would  be  better.  It  does  n't  make 
much  difference  about  the  size,  if  he  can  keep  a  sober 


232  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

face  while  somebody  tells  a  story  about  him,  and  do  the 
things  he  's  told  to.  I  could  ii't  guess  how  't  was  done 
till  Bubby  Short  told  me.  Bubby  Short  was  the  dwarf. 
He  was  invited  on  purpose,  because  he  is  up  to  all  kinds 
of  fun,  and  can  act  dialogues,  be  an  old  man,  or  old 
woman,  or  anything  you  want  him  to.  I  will  tell  you  ex- 
actly how  't  was  done,  so  you  will  know.  And  I  will  send 
you  the  Narrative  to  copy.  But  you  can't  keep  it  very 
long.  It  was  given  to  Bubby  Short.  The  showman 
was  Maud  Grey's  cousin.  He  was  dressed  in  a  turban, 
with  long  robes,,  and  he  had  black  rings  made  round  his 
eyes,  and  his  face  was  tatooed  with  a  lead-pencil. 
Course  he  made  up  the  story  and  made  the  pictures  to  it 
too.  But  he  pretended  he  got  them  in  the  dwarf's  coun- 
try, that  was  named  "  Empskutia."  I  thought  maybe 
you  'd  like  to  read  it,  then  if  you  made  one  you  could 
think  of  something  to  say.  'T  was  only  meant  for  the 
little  ones,  he  said,  but  we  all  liked  to  hear  it.  No 
matter  if  it  was  nonsense,  we  did  n't  care.  Now,  I  '11 
begin. 

First,  they  had  a  table,  with  a  long  table-cloth  on  it 
that  touched  the  floor.  It  must  touch  the  floor,  so  as  to 
hide  the  real  feet  of  the  one  that 's  going  to  be  the  dwarf. 
When  Bubby  Short  was  all  ready  he  sat  down  to  the 
table,  same  as  if  he  'd  been  doing  his  examples  or  eating 
his  dinner,  —  sat  facing  the  company  and  waited  for  the 
curtain  to  rise.  Course  you  have  to  have  a  curtain. 
The  table-cloth  covered  the  lower  part  of  him.  His  own 
hands  and  arms  were  turned  into  feet  and  legs  for  the 
dwarf.  I  '11  tell  you  how.  The  arms  had  little  trousers 
on  them,  and  the  hands  were  put  into  nice  little  button- 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY   LETTERS.  233 

boots,  so  they  looked  like  legs  and  feet.  He  was  all 
stuffed  out  above  his  waist,  and  had  on  a  stiff  shirt  bosom, 
and  breastpin,  and  necktie,  and  false  whiskers,  and  a 
wig  made  of  black  curled  hair,  and  a  tasselled  cap,  with 
a  gilt  band  round  it.  He  crooked  his  arms  at  the  elbows 
and  laid  them  flat  on  the  table,  with  the  button-boots 
towards  the  curtain,  so  when  the  curtain  went  up  it  looked 
like  a  little  dwarf  sitting  down,  facing  the  company. 
Now  I  must  tell  you  where  the  dwarf's  arms  and  hands 
came  from.  For  you  know  that  Bubby  Short's  arms 
and  hands  were  made  into  legs  and  feet  for  the  dwarf. 
Now  to  make  arms,  he  had  on  a  little  coat,  with  the 
sleeves  of  it  stuffed  out  to  look  like  arms,  and  then  a  stuffed 
pair  of  white  cotton  gloves  was  sewed  on  to  the  sleeves, 
to  look  like  hands,  and  these  gloves  were  pinned  together 
by  the  fingers  in  front  of  his  waist  so  as  to  look  like 
clasped  hands. 

The  showman  asked  him  to  do  different  things.  Asked 
him  to  try  to  stand  up.  Then  Bubby  Short  began  to 
get  up,  very  slow,  as  if  't  was  tough  work  to  do  it,  and 
let  his  arms  straighten  themselves  down,  and  looked  just 
as  if  there  was  a  little  short  fellow  standing  on  the  table. 
I  thought  like  enough  you  'd  like  to  know  how,  so  as  to 
make  one  some  time,  out  of  Tommy  or  some  bigger  boy 
that  knows  how  to  whistle.  The  showman  made  his 
dwarf  whistle  a  funny  tune,  and  told  us  't  was  an  air  of 
his  native  country.  Then  made  him  step  out  the  tune 
with  his  little  button-boots,  and  it  seemed  just  like  a  little 
dancing  dwarf.  The  showman  said  that  was  the  national 
dance  of  his  country.  I  guess  Uncle  Jacob  would  like  to 
see  one.  I  guess  his  eyes  would  twinkle. 


234  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

When  the  curtain  went  up  you  ought  to  've  heard  the 
folks  roar  !  Some  of  them  thought  't  was  real.  When 
the  company  asked  him  if  he  could  move  his  arms,  he 
shook  his  head,  no.  Then  the  showman  said  he  could 
make  him  do  it,  by  whispering  a  charm  in  his  ear.  So 
he  went  close  up  and  whispered,  and  took  out  the  pin  tliat 
pinned  the  gloves,  in  a  secret  way,  and  then  the  arms 
dropped  apart.  All  the  way  he  could  move  his  arms  was 
by  shaking  his  body,  and  then  only  a  little.  The  show- 
man said  the  fearful  accident  that  stopped  his  growth  lost 
him  the  use  of  his  arms,  though  he  could  dance  and 
whistle  and  make  a  bow  [here  he  made  him  make  a  bow'], 
and  could  scratch  his  ear  with  his  boot  [here  he  scratched 
his  ear  with  the  button-boot-toe~\,\>\it  his  brain  was  strong  as 
anybody's.  Then  afterwards  he  told  how  much  he  knew. 
But  you  can  read  about  it  in  the  Narrative.  He  made 
him  crook  his  knees  sideways.  He  could  do  this  easy 
enough,  for  't  was  only  the  elbows  bending  outwards. 
Then  he  made  him  sit  down  again.  I  don't  believe  any 
of  you  ever  saw  anything  so  funny.  The  showman  kept 
a  very  sober  face  all  the  time,  and  'most  made  us  believe 
every  word  of  his  story  was  true,  and  at  the  end  he  spoke 
very  loud  and  acted  it  out,  like  an  orator. 
Your  affectionate  Cousin, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 

P.  S.  Will  you  please  send  back  the  picture  of  that  crea- 
ture we  sent  you  once  ?  We  want  to  do  something  with 
it.  I  put  in  the  Narrative  some  of  the  things  the  audience 
did. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  235 

/ 
NAERATIVE. 

MY  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIENDS, 

Hyladdu  Alizararald,  the  unfortunate  gentleman  now 
before  you,  was  born  in  the  country  of  Empskutia,  on 
the  borders  of  the  great  unknown  region  of  Phlezzo- 
gripotamia,  which  lies  beyond  the  sources  of  the  river 
Phlezzra.  He  was  the  only  child  of  a  nobleman,  whose 
wealth  was  unbounded,  and  whose  power  was  immense. 
The  day  of  his  birth  was  made  a  day  of  rejoicing 
throughout  the  city.  Not  only  were  fountains  of  wine 
set  flowing,  that  none  might  go  athirst  (for  the  Emp- 
skutians  are  driest  when  they  're  happiest),  but  living 
fountains  of  milk  also,  that  every  child  might,  on  that 
happy  day,  drink  its  fill  of  the  pure  infantine  fluid.  It 
is  perhaps  needless  to  remark  that  these  last  were  cows, 
driven  in  from  the  surrounding  plains. 

Hyladdu  was  an  infant  of  great  promise,  and  bade  fair 
to  become  the  pride  of  his  native  land,  instead  of  being 
—  of  being  —  pardon  my  emotion.  [Showman  puts 
handkerchief  to  his  eyes.  Hyladdu  wipes  away  a  tear 
with  Jtis  boot-toe.~\  Yes,  gentlemen  and  ladies  [calmer^ 
at  his  birth  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  Hyladdu's 
head  should  not  rise  as  far  towards  the  clouds  as  will 
yours,  my  smiling  young  friends  before  me.  Briefly,  he 
was  not  born  a  dwarf.  Shall  I  relate  how  this  sweet 
flower  of  promise  was  nipped  in  the  bud?  \_Tne  audi- 
ence cry,  "  Yes  !  yes  !  "  Hyladdu  takes  his  handkerchief 
in  both  boots  and  wipes  his  eyesJ] 

Listen,  then.  When  Hyladdu  had  reached  the  age  of 
eighty-one  days  —  eighty-one  being  the  third  multiple 


236  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

of  three  —  his  parents,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
country,  summoned  to  the  cradle  of  the  young  child  a 
Thulsk. 

The  Thulski  are  a  tall,  mysterious  race  of  prophets, 
known  only  in  Empskutia,  who  attain  to  an  unknown  age. 
Many  of  them  cannot  even  remember  their  own  boy- 
hood. These  prophets  are  reverenced  by  all  the  people. 
As  year  after  year  is  added  to  their  life,  they  grow  thin, 
dark,  and  shrivelled,  like  mummies.  The  skin  is  dry  and 
hangs  loose  about  the  bones.  The  hair  is  long  and  white, 
and  every  year  adds  to  its  length  and  its  whiteness,  while 
the  eyes  seem  blacker  and  more  piercing.  They  wear 
very  high  black  caps,  square,  and  carry  in  the  hand  a 
peculiar  flower,  a  snow-white  flower,  having  five  petals, 
which  grows  in  secret  places,  and  which,  even  if  found, 
no  other  person  ever  dare  to  pluck,  lest  its  peculiar 
smell  should  work  a  charm  upon  them.  None  but  the 
Thulski  themselves  know  when  and  where  the  Thulski 
die.  If  they  have  graves  they  are  unknown  graves, 
though  it  is  a  common  belief  in  the  country  that  the  mys- 
terious white-petalled  flower  blooms  only  in  their  burial- 
places.  During  life  they  live  apart  from  all  others,  sel- 
dom speaking,  even  when  mingled  in  the  busy  crowd. 

The  order  of  the  Thulski  is  kept  up  in  this  way- 
Their  chief,  clad  in  long  dark  robes,  wanders  silently 
the  streets,  and  when,  among  the  children  at  play,  he  dis- 
covers one  who  has  some  peculiar  mark  about  him,  —  the 
nature  of  this  mark  is  unknown,  —  he  beckons,  and  the 
child  follows  him-  Must  follow  him.  For  that  silent 
beckoning  joins  him  to  their  order.  He  is  from  that  mo- 
ment a  Thul>k,  and  has  no  wish  to  escape. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  237 

Now,  although  to  be  a  Thulsk  is  to  be  certain  of  long 
life,  yet  no  mother  desires  this  fate  for  her  child,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  children  are  warned  against  them,  and  have 
among  themselves  a  secret  sign,  a  rapid  motion  of  the 
fingers,  which  means  "  scatter !  "  And  if,  when  they  are 
at  play,  the  white-haired  prophet  is  seen,  though  even  at 
a  great  distance,  this  sign  is  rapidly  made,  and  the  little 
flock  disappears  so  instantly,  one  would  suppose  the  earth 
had  swallowed  them.  You  will  see,  before  my  melan- 
choly story  is  finished,  what  all  this  has  to  do  with  Hy- 
laddu's  misfortune. 

As  I  was  saying,  when  he  had  attained  the  age  of 
eighty-one  days,  —  eighty-one  being  the  third  multiple 
of  three,  —  his  parents,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
Empskutians,  summoned  one  of  these  prophets  to  the 
cradle  of  their  child,  that  his  fortunes  might  be  foretold. 

The  weird,  shrivelled  old  Thulsk,  with  his  flowing 
white  hair,  wrapped  his  dark  robes  about  him,  and  sat  si- 
lently at  the  low  cradle,  gazing  upon  the  sleeping  child. 
At  length  he  arose,  with  a  look  of  sorrow,  and  would  have 
departed  without  uttering  a  single  word. 

"  Speak  !  speak  ! "  cried  the  father. 

"  Ah,  do  not  speak !  "  murmured  the  mother ;  for  she 
perceived  that  the  prophet  foresaw  evil.  "  Yet  speak, 
yes,  speak  !  "  she  cried.  "  Let  us  know  the  worst,  that 
we  may  prepare  ourselves." 

The  prophet  then  made  a  reply,  of  which  thes.6  five 
words  are  a  translation  :  — 

"  Sorrow  cometh  sufficiently  soon.     Wait !  " 

But,  on  being  very  earnestly  entreated,  he  disclosed 
that  before  the  beautiful  infant  attained  his  sixth  year  — 


238  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

six  being  the  double  of  three  —  he  would  sustain  injuries 
from  a  fall,  by  which  either  his  mind  or  his  body  would 
be  blighted.  Which,  it  was  not  given  him  to  say.  He 
added  that  it  grieved  him  to  still  further  disclose  that  he 
himself  would  be  in  some  way  connected  with  the  child's 
misfortune,  though  in  what  way  even  his  prophetic  vis- 
ion could  not  foresee. 

Now  it  may  readily  be  supposed  that  the  parents 
spared  no  pains  to  ward  off  from  their  child  this  unknown 
danger.  The  upper  windows  were  immediately  fastened 
down,  fresh  air  being  secured  by  means  of  hinges  on 
each  square  of  glass.  As  soon  as  he  could  walk  sen- 
tinels were  placed  at  every  flight  of  stairs,  and  to  keep 
him  out  of  the  cellar,  a  neighboring  wine-merchant  was 
invited  to  store  his  goods  there,  so  that  wine-butts  took 
up  every  inch  of  room,  from  floor  to  ceiling.  Ladders 
and  movable  steps  he  was  not  allowed  the  sight  of,  and 
as  it  seems  as  natural  for  boys  to  climb  trees  as  to  breathe 
the  air  around  them,  every  tree  in  the  grounds  was  pro- 
tected by  sharp  iron  teeth. 

The  longing  which  every  boy  has  to  climb  is  called 
the  climbing  instinct.  In  Hyladdu  the  climbing  instinct 
was  nipped  in  the  bud,  —  smothered,  crushed,  kept  under, 
He  was  forbidden  to  swing  on  gates,  taught  to  avoid 
fence-posts,  lamp-posts,  and  flag-staffs,  and  to  look  upon 
hills  as  summits  of  danger.  Of  shinning,  he  knew  but 
the  name.  And  that  the  very  idea  of  climbing  might  be 
kept  from  his  mind,  all  climbing  plants  were  rooted  out 
from  the  grounds  ;  not  even  a  morning-glory  was  allowed 
to  run  up  a  string!  By  these  means  the  anxious  parents 
hoped  to  prevent  what  the  Tliulsk  had  foretold,  from 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  239 

coming  to  pass.  "  For,"  said  they,  "  if  he  never  goes  up, 
he  can  never  fall  down."  But  mark  now  how  all  these 
precautions  were  the  very  means  of  making  the  prophecy 
prove  true.  For,  had  he  only  been  taught  to  climb,  and 
had  been  accustomed  to  high  places,  that  sad  accident 
might  not  have  taken  place  and  the  blighted  individual 
before  you  might  now  have  been  one  of  the  flowers  of  his 
country !  \_Emotion.~\  Pardon  me,  friends.  Tears 
come  unbidden.  [Showman  holds  handkerchief  to  his 
eyes.  Dwarf  ditto,  with  boots.~\  > 

Imagine  now  the  dear  child,  grown  a  beautiful  boy  of 
five  summers,  —  a  boy. of  beaming  blue  eyes,  and  a  rosy 
cheek !  of  flaxen  curls  and  a  graceful  mention  !  The 
idol  of  his  parents,  the  joy  of  his  friends  !  Sweet  in  dis- 
position, of  tender  feelings,  quick  to  learn,  truthful, 
affectionate,  gentle  in  his  manners,  winning  in  his  ways, 
no  wonder  that  he  was  so  well  beloved ! 

It  was  only  one  short  week  before  his  sixth  birthday, 
and  his  friends  were  trembling  with  joy,  that  the  fatal 
time  had  so  nearly  passed,  when  the  calamity  which  had 
so  long  hung  over  him  like  a  cloud  descended  upon 
him  like  a  thunderbolt !  In  other  words,  he  lacked  but 
a  week  of  six,  and  all  were  rejoicing  that  the  danger  was 
nearly  passed,  when  the  event  happened. 

Hyladdu,  being,  like  most  boys,  of  a  playful  turn 
of  mind,  was  sometimes  permitted  to  join  in  the  games 
of  other  children,  in  front  of  his  father's  mansion,  ta- 
tended  always  by  a  faithful  servant.  On  this  particular 
day  they  were  amusing  themselves  by  playing  with 
some  silver-coated  marbles,  a  box  of  which  had  been  pre- 
sented to  Hyladdu  by  his  grandmother,  who  was  one  of 
the  court  ladies. 


240  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

A  very  pretty  group  they  were.  The  children  of  that 
country,  like  their  fathers,  were  dressed  in  long  white 
robes,  with  bright  sashes.  On  their  heads  they  wore  caps 
of  blue  or  scarlet,  which  turned  up  with  points  before,  be- 
hind, and  at  each  side.  On  each  point  a  little  silver  bell 
was  hung,  that  the  servants  might  have  less  difficulty  in 
following  them  about.  Their  shoes  were  pointed  at  the  toes. 

Among* those  silver  marbles  was  an  "alley"  of  great 
beauty,  glistening  with  rubies,  and  inlaid  with  pearl. 
This  alley  never  was  played  for  in  earnest.  \_Here  the 
dwarf  beckons  to  the  showman,  and  whispers  in  his  ear.] 
He  informs  me  that  the  laws  forbade  playing  in  earnest. 
I  will  now  finish  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

In  the  course  of  the  game,  this  precious  "  alley  "  rolled 
a  long  distance,  until  it  came  to  a  brick  in  the  pavement, 
which  was  set  slanting,  or  had  become  so  by  a  sinking 
of  the  ground  underneath.  This  brick  gave  the  "alley" 
a  turn  sideways  to  the  left,  and  it  rolled  at  last  through 
a  crack  in  the  garden  fence,  and  hid  itself  in  the  grass. 
The  servant,  in  great  haste,  darted  through  the  gate  in 
search  of  it. 

Meanwhile,  slowly  down  the  street,  though  at  a  dis- 
tance, a  Thulsk  was  approaching.  It  was  the  same  who 
had  nearly  six  years  before  sat  by  Hyladdu's  cradle. 
He  walked  silently  on,  his  eyes  cast  down,  his  hands 
clasped,  holding  between  them  the  five-petalled  flower. 
One  of  the  boys,  perceiving  him,  made  the  sign  of  warn- 
ing. Instantly  they  scattered,  like  a  flock  of  pigeons, 
leaving  their  little  silver-belled  caps  on  the  ground. 
Hyladdu,  seeing  the  cellar  open,  would  have  hidden  him- 
self there,  but  no  space  was  left  between  the  wine-butts. 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  241 

A  much  larger  boy  seized  his  hand  and  pulled  him  into 
a  strange  house,  and  then,  in  his  fright,  dragged  him 
through  long  passage-ways,  and  up  seven  flights  of  stairs; 
for  the  Empskutians  build  their  houses  to  an  immense 
height.  Here  they  Bat  down  to  breathe  awhile,  and 
Hyladdu  begged  the  boy  to  go  for  the  faithful  servant, 
that  he  might  lead  him  home. 

Now  no  sooner  was  the  boy  gone  than  Hyladdu  be- 
gan to  look  about  him,  and  presently  he  discovered  a 
slender  staircase  going  still  higher.  Having  climbed 
seven  flights  with  help,  he  felt  no  fear  in  attempting  the 
eighth  alone.  This  slender  staircase  conducted  him  to 
the  roof  of  the  building.  [Emotion  and  handkerchief.] 
Excuse  my  emotion.  But  when  I  think  what  might 
have  happened,  if  something  else  had  not  happened  to 
prevent,  when  I  think  that  he  might  have  fallen  from  that 
immense  height,  to  be  dashed  in  pieces  beneath,  I  —  I  — 
But  I  will  let  my  story  take  its  course. 

And  now  let  me  tell  you  that  the  people  of  Emp- 
skutia  were  very  fond  of  the  beautiful.  The  streets  were 
adorned  with  ornamental  trees,  and  over  the  roofs  of  the 
houses  were  trained  flowering  vines,  which  ran  to  the 
highest  peak  of  cupola  or  chimney,  and,  blooming  sweetly 
there,  filled  the  whole  air  with  fragrance.  It  was  the 
custom  of  the  people  to  place  stout  iron  hooks  along  the 
eaves  of  their  dwellings,  from  which  were  suspended  im- 
mense flower-pots  of  various  beautiful  designs.  In  these 
pots  the  flowering  vines  took  root  and  from  thence  not 
only  climbed  the  roof,  but  trailed  gracefully  down,  thus 
giving  the  city  a  festive  appearance,  like  a  never-ending 
gala-day. 

10  p 


242  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

When  Hyladdu  looked  out  from  the  top  of  that  last 
eighth  flight,  the  long-smothered  instinct  of  climbing  burst 
out  like  a  hidden  fire.  It  would  not  be  restrained.  Ah, 
now  will  be  seen  the  folly  of  crushing  that  instinct.  Had 
he  only  have  been  accustomed  to  dizzy  heights,  made 
familiar  with  danger,  how  different  might  have  been  his 
fate !  [Emotion^ 

The  instinct  of  climbing,  as  I  said,  was  now  strong 
upon  him !  No  sooner  did  he  perceive  that  there  was 
still  a  height  to  gain  than  he  resolved  to  gain  that 
height.  Nothing  less  would  satisfy  him  than  sitting 
H  ide  the  ridgepole,  where  a  pair  of  bright-feathered 
birds  had  built  their  nest,  and  were  then  feeding  their 
young.  He  ventured  out,  made  his  way  cautiously  up, 
holding  on  by  the  vines.  Ah,  could  his  parents  have 
seen  him  then ! 

He  arrived  at  the  top,  and  there,  seated  on  that 
lofty  pinnacle,  surrounded  by  beautiful  flowers,  he  gazed 
on  the  scene  below,  and  enjoyed  a  new  happiness-  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  looked  down  from  a  height ! 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  gazed  abroad  over  a  wide 
extended  country ! 

Such  pleasure  he  had  never  known,  and  the  faithful 
servant,  anxiously  searching,  might  have  found  him 
there,  still  enjoying  it,  but  for  a  pretty  little  bluebird, 
that  flew  suddenly  down  and  startled  him,  while  he  was 
gazing  at  some  object  far  away.  This  little  bird  came 
flying  through  the  air,  and  alighted  for  an  instant  on 
the  child's  head,  thinking  perhaps  to  make  its  nest  in  the 
soft  curls,  or  it  might  have  thought  his  rosy  lips  were 
cherries.  The  suddenness  with  which  it  came  startled 


THE  WILLIAM  HENBY  LETTERS.  243 

Hyladdu.  He  trembled,  he  lost  his  hold,  slipped,  then 
caught  by  a  vine,  it  gave  way,  he  slipped  again,  but, 
having  no  skill  in  climbing,  slipped  lower  and  lower,  and 
would  have  fallen '  from  the  roof  and  been  dashed  in 
pieces,  but  for  that  custom  which  was  mentioned  just 
now,  of  suspending  large  flower-pots  from  the  eaves.  It 
happened  that  his  course  lay  directly  towards  one  of  these 
iron  hooks.  He  dropped,  therefore,  into  the  immense 
flower-pot  beneath,  where  he  lay  as  secure  as  a  babe  in 
its  cradle ! 

From  this  frightful  position  he  was  at  length  rescued 
by  one  of  the  hook  and  ladder  company  of  that  city, 
and  placed  in  his  mother's  arms.  His  own  arms  were 
nearly  paralyzed  by  his  frantic  efforts  to  cling  to  some 
support,  so  that  ever  afterwards  he  could  move  them  but 
very  slightly,  as  you  perceive.  [Dwarf  moves  his  arms 
slightly,  by  shaking  his  bodyl\  And  though  the  child's 
life  was  spared,  yet  the  terrible  fright  bad  the  effect  of 
stopping  his  growth !  Yes,  my  young  friends,  Hyladdu 
never  grew  more,  except  in  wisdom  !  The  innocent 
cause  of  all  this,  the  poor  sorrowing  grandmother,  died 
of  remorse ! 

And  now  my  story  becomes  a  more  pleasing  one  to 
tell.  Although  the  child's  body  remained  dwarfed  in 
size,  yet  his  heart  grew  in  goodness,  and  his  mind  grew 
in  knowledge,  and  he  was  beloved  and  respected  by  all. 
Debarred  earthly  mountains,  he  mounted  the  heights  of 
learning.  The  climbing  instinct,  which  his  body  could 
not  satisfy,  was  developed  in  his  mind.  He  craved 
books,  he  craved  whole  libraries.  Teacher  after  teacher 
came,  all  exhausting  upon  him  their  treasures  of  knowl- 


244  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

edge.  Music  and  drawing,  studied  scientifically,  were 
his  amusements.  He  mastered  astronomy,  mineralogy,  al- 
gebra, conchology,  trigonometry,  physiology,  engineering, 
metaphysics,  technology,  geology,  phrenology,  also  for- 
eign languages  unnumbered,  with  all  the  literature  be- 
longing to  each.  [Sensation  in  the  audience."]  And 
when  at  last  the  storehouses  of  wisdom  seemed  ex- 
hausted, a  report  reached  him  of  a  great  country  beyond 
the  seas,  called  the  United  States  of  America,  in  whose 
excellent  schools  there  remains  something  yet  to  learn ! 
[Applause  from  the  audience.] 

He  studied  the  written  language  of  that  country, 
read  its  history,  and  resolved  to  seek  its  shores.  For 
he  longed  to  behold  the  land  of  the  Revolutionary  War ; 
to  read  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  to  stand 
upon  the  grave  of  Old  John  Brown  !  [Applause.] 

He  had  heard  of  Bunker's  Hill.  Travellers  said  that 
upon  whomsoever  rested  the  shadow  of  its  monument, 
that  person  possessed  forever  after  the  unflinching  brav- 
ery of  those  who  bled  and  perished  there  !  [  Cheers."] 
He  had  heard  of  Plymouth  Rock  [Cheers'],  and  been 
told  that  his  foot  once  planted  firmly  upon  it,  he  would 
feel  springing  up  within  him  all  the  heroism,  the  self- 
sacrifice,  and  the  everlasting  perseverance  of  the  glorious 
Pilgrim  Fathers  !  [Prolonged  cheering."} 

I  have  now,  my  young  friends,  told  you,  very  briefly, 
the  history  of  this  remarkable  character.  His  age  is 
thirty-four  years.  He  is  of  a  cheerful  disposition,  hav- 
ing long  ago  resolved  to  look  his  misfortune  steadily  in 
the  face  and  make  the  best  of  it.  In  books,  where  are 
treasures  stored  up  by  the  scholars  of  all  past  time,  he 


THE   WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  245 

finds  a  never-ending  pleasure.  Though  dwarfed  in  stat- 
ure, he  is  resolved  to  make  a  man  of  himself,  and  will 
fight  it  out  on  that  line  if  it  takes  all  summer.  For  he 
early  adopted  for  his  motto,  these  beautiful  lines  of  Dr. 
Watts,  — 

"  Were  I  so  tall  as  to  reach  the  pole, 
Or  grasp  the  ocean  in  my  span, 
I  should  be  measured  by  my  soul. 

The  mind  's  the  standard  of  the  man." 

[Applause. 
(Curtain  falls.) 

I  once  heard  the  above  narrative  repeated  by  Joe  in  a 
truly  theatrical  manner.  On  the  same  occasion  I  also  saw 
the  picture  of  the  "  creature  "  to  which  William  Henry  refers 
in  his  postscript  to  the  Dwarf  Letter. 

Uncle  Jacob  hailed  me  one  day  as  I  was  coming  from  my 
office,  and  after  driving  close  to  the  curbstone,  informed  me 
that  Cousin  Joe  and  his  accordion  had  arrived,  both  in  good 
health  and  spirits.  Also,  that  Billy's  school  had  met  with  a 
very  sudden  vacation,  caused  either  by  flues,  or  furnaces,  or 
both,  having  something  the  matter  with  them,  and  the  young 
rascal  would  be  at  home  that  evening,  and  I  must  come 
without  fail.  "  Of  course  you  know,"  said  he, "  't  is  a  pretty 
hard  thing  for  Billy  having  to  give  up  his  studies,  so  he  'a 
coming  home  to  his  friends.  Nothing  like  being  among 
friends  when  you're  in  trouble?" 

Now  this  was  by  no  means  a  remarkable  event.  Only  a 
boy  coming  home  for  a  few  days  to  see  his  folks.  Still,  an 
occasion  which  worked  Grandmother  up  to  the  pitch  of  put- 
ting on  her  best  cap  should  not  be  passed  over  in  silence. 

I  went  out  to  the  Farm  that  evening,  and  on  arriving  found 
Cousin  Joe,  and  the  accordion,  and  Aunt  Phebe's  family,  with 
a  few  relatives  whom  I  had  never  met  before,  all  assembled  at 
Grandmother's.  They  had  made  up  a  fire  in  the  "  Franklin 


246  THE  WILLIAM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

fireplace."  This  "  Franklin  fireplace "  was  a  sort  of  iron 
framework,  projecting  from  the  chimney  into  the  room.  The 
top  was  flat,  with  brass  balls  on  the  corners.  It  had  iron 
sides,  which  "  flared  out,"  and  a  rounded  iron  hearth  of  its 
own,  about  an  inch  above  the  brick  hearth,  and  shining  brass 
andirons. 

No  one  could  wish  for  a  brighter  room,  I  thought,  for  there 
was  the  light  from  the  fire,  the  light  from  the  "  lights,"  and 
the  light  from  all  those  smiling  faces  !  An  inviting  supper- 
table  was  set  out,  covered  dishes  were  "  keeping  warm  "  on 
the  hearth  and  "  frame,"  and  everything  was  ready  and  wait- 
ing for  William  Henry.  Mr.  Carver  had  gone  to  the  sta- 
tion, and  they  were  expected  back  every  moment. 

Georgiana  was  very  busy  over  a  skein  of  blue  sewing-silk. 
She  informed  me  that  that  was  the  first  whole  skein  of  sewing- 
silk  she  ever  had  in  all  her  life,  and  that  it  came  from  a  bun- 
dle of  all  colors,  which  Cousin  Joe  gave  to  Hannah  Jane.  It 
brought  trouble  with  it,  as  it  is  said  all  earthly  possessions  do, 
and  snarled  at  all  her  attempts  to  coax  it  on  to  a  spool. 
Tommy,  sober  as  a  judge,  was  holding  it  for  her  to  wind.  He 
sat  in  a  little  chair,  with  his  legs  crossed.  His  mother  said  he 
was  very  particular  to  cross  his  legs,  so  as  to  seem  more  like  a 
man. 

Lucy  Maria  had  just  persuad&d  Grandmother  to  put  on  her 
best,  double-stringed,  white-ribboned  cap,  in  honor  of  Wil- 
liam Henry.  It  was  the  very  one  he  brought  her  so  long 
a»o,  but  was  still  as  good  as  new,  having  very  seldom  seen 
the  light  of  day,  or  of  evening,  since  it  first  came  home  in 
the  bandbox.  She  had  also  been  coaxed  into  her  second-best 
dress,  and  then  into  the  rocking-chair.  Lucy  Maria  tied  her 
cap  under  the  chin,  with  the  narrow  strings,  and  smoothed 
down  the  wide  ones. 

"  You  have  no  idea,  Grandmother,"  said  she.  "  You  have 
n't  the  faintest  idea  how  well  you  look !  " 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 


247 


"  'T  is  too  dressy  for  me,"  said  Grandmother.  "It  don't 
feel  natural  on  my  head." 

"  Now  I  should  think,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  "  that  a  cap  would 
feel  more  natural  on  anybody's  head  than  anywhere  ! " 

"  It  looks  natural,"  said  Lucy  Maria,  "  I  'm  sure  it  does. 
Looks  as  if  it  grew  there  !  " 

"  And  only  think  how  't  will  please  Billy ! "  said  Aunt 
Phebe. 

The  "  Map  of  the  United  States  "  had  been  brought  out  of 
the  front  room,  and  placed  over  the  mantel-pjece.  And 
Lucy  Maria,  for  fun,  she  said,  and  to  pay  a  delicate  compli- 


ment to  the  artist,  had  fastened  a  few  sprays  of  upland  cran- 
berry around  it.  And,  also,  for  fun,  she  pinned  up  near  it 
a  little  picture,  which  I  had  quite  a  laugh  over,  and  which, 
she  said,  was  the  renowned  Megotharium,  in  the  act  of  feed- 
ing, drawn  by  the  famous  artist,  William  Henry,  assisted  by 
his  brother  artist,  Dorry.  The  picture,  she  added,  was  not  an 
original,  but  merely  a  copy  done  by  a  female.  A  photograph 
of  these  two  artists,  sitting  side  by  side,  was  exhibited,  under- 
neath the  picture. 

Cousin  Joe  said  that  creature  beat  all  his  going  to  sea. 
This  young  sailor,  by  the  way,  must  have  made  a  jolly  ship- 
mate. He  was  full  of  his  jokes  and  his  tricks.  Tried  to 
twirl  Tommy  round,  by  rubbing  him  between  his  two  hands, 


248  THE  WIIA'AM   HENRY  LETTERS. 

as  one  does  a  top,  telling  him  that  was  the  way  the  Hotten- 
tots did  to  take  the  mischief  out  of  boys  ! 

Aunt  Phebe  said  she  thought  if  the  Hottentots  knew  any 
way  of  taking  the  mischief  oirt  of  boys,  and  were  out  of 
work,  they  might  find  employment  in  this  country. 

Tommy  begged  to  play  "  one  tune,"  and  was  allowed  to. 
Cousin  Joe  declared  that  "  that  accordion  was  played  every 
wave  of  the  way  across  the  Atlantic,"  either  by  himself  or  by 
one  of  the  sailors,  and  that  sometimes  the  mermaids  sang  to  its 
music !  Asked  Tommy  if  he  would  liko  to  hear  the  tune  the 
mermaids  sang  ?  Tommy  said  he  should  rather  wait  till  after 
supper.  This  was  the  way  in  which,  company  being  present, 
the  young  chap  let  it  be  known  that  he  was  hungry. 

Grandmother  wondered,  then,  why  .they  did  n'*,  come,  and 
went  to  look  out  of  the  window,  putting  up  both  hands,  to 
keep  the  light  of  the  room  from  her  eyes ;  then  opened  the 
outside  door,  to  listen  for  the  whistle  ;  then  went  to  lock  at 
the  kitchen  clock  ;  then  came  back,  saying  it  was  a  good  deal 
past  the  time,  and  what  could  be  the  matter  ? 

She  little  knew  who  was  behind,  following  her  on  tiptoe 
into  the  room.  William  Henry  himself!  He  was  creeping 
in  at  the  sink-room  door,  just  as  she  turned  to  come  back  from 
looking  at  the  clock,  and  followed  softly  behind.  She  did  n't 
notice  how  very  smiling  we  all  looked.  Billy  shook  his  fingel 
at  us,  to  hush  us. 

"  I  hope  there  has  n't  anything  happened  to  the  cars,"  said 
she. 

"  I  hope  so  too  ! "  shouted  Billy.  And,  by  a  miraculous 
jump,  he  planted  himself,  square  foot,  in  front  of  his  grand- 
mother, who,  of  course,  walked  straight  into  his  arms ! 

Then  everybody  shouted,  and  clapped,  and  shook  hands, 
and  kissed.  The  cap  got  twisted  about,  and  as  if  there  were 
not  confusion  enough,  Cousin  Joe  began  to  caper  about,  and 
to  play  on  his  accordion  tunes  that  were  never  played  before  I 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  249 

Such  a  splendid  fellow  as  Billy  was  !  Such  a  hearty,  laugh- 
ing, breezy  fellow,  with  his  thick  head  of  hair,  "  not  so  red  as 
it  was,"  and  his  honest,  good-natured  face  !  I  did  n't  wonder 
they  were  all  so  glad  to  see  him. 

"  Welcome  home,  shipmate  ! "  shouted  Cousin  Joe.  "  Wel- 
come home !  How  long  '11  you  be  in  port  ?  And  worked 
away  at  Billy's  hand  as  if  he  'd  been  pumping  out  ship. 

"  'Most  a  week,"  said  Billy.     "Mind  my  forefinger." 

"Don't  take  long  to  stay  at  home  a  week,"  said  Cousin 
Joe,  tossing  up  his  accordion. 

"  That  's  so,"  said  Uncle  Jacob.  "  Come,  let  's  be  doing 
something  !  " 

"  That  means,  let  's  be  eating  something,"  said  Aunt 
Phebe.  "  Come,  girls,  put  everything  on  the  table !  Billy, 
how  tall  and  spruce  you  do  look  !  Poor  Grandmother,  she  's 
losing  her  little  Billy  !  " 

"  But  what 's  her  loss  is  his  gain  !  "  said  Uncle  Jacob.  "  I 
speak  to  sit  next  the  frosted  cake.  Where  's  Tommy  ?  " 

Tommy  came  in,  tugging  Billy's  carpet-bag,  which  he  found 
in  the  kitchen,  hoping,  no  doubt,  there  were  goodies  inside 
for  him. 

We  had  a  delightful  "  supper- time,"  Grandmother,  of  course, 
piling  Billy's  plate  with  everything  good. 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Carver,  "  that  whatever  boys  eat  at 
home  grandmothers  expect  will  agree  with  them  ! " 

The  happy  "  young  rascal  "  meanwhile  bore  the  separation 
from  his  studies  with  amazing  fortitude  !  Told  no  end  of 
funny  stories  about  the  boys,  and  about  parties,  and  about 
the  Two  Betseys.  And  twice,  during  supper,  he  exclaimed, 
"  I  do  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  those  cars.  They  were 
such  good  cars  !  " 

My  visits  to  the  farm  were  always  delightful,  but  during 
that  supper-time,  and  during  that  evening,  I  grudged  every 
moment  as  it  flew  away. 
11* 


250  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

Uncle  Jacob  was  in  high  glee,  and  insisted  on  being  taught 
"  the  graces,"  and  on  having  his  wife  taught  "  the  graces." 
Then  Lucy  Maria  "  set  her  foot  down  "  that  every  one  should 
stand  in  the  row,  and  Billy  should  be  Mr.  Tornero.  And, 
being  a  girl  of  resolution,  she  coaxed  every  one  into  line,  ex- 
cept Grandmother,  who  said  her  rheumatism  should  do  her 
some  service  then,  if  never  before. 

"  The  graces  "  were  then  taught,  and  learned,  amid  shouts 
of  laughter,  Cousin  Joe  playing  for  us,  and  I  '11  venture  to 
say  that  had  Mr.  Tornero  been  present,  he  would  have  been 
astonished  at  our  steps,  and  also  at  the  music ! 

Afterwards  we  had  the  dwarf  shown  off,  Cousin  Joe  being 
the  showman.  He  declared  after  looking  over  the  "  Narra- 
tive," that  Empskutia  was  a  place  well  known*  to  him,  and 
that  he  had  often  sailed  up  the  "  river  Phlezzra,"  to  trade 
with  the  natives.  Lucy  Maria  dressed  him  in  a  large-figured 
red  and  green  bedspread,  pinned  on  to  look  like  a  loose  robe, 
•with  flowing  sleeves,  and  girded  about  the  waist  with  cords 
and  tassels  taken  from  Aunt  Phebe's  parlor  curtains.  He 
wore  an  immense  lace  collar,  and  a  turban  made  of  a  white 
muslin  handkerchief  (one  that  was  Grandmother's  mother's) 
and  besprinkled  with  artificial  flowers.  His  face  was  tattooed 
with  a  lead-pencil,  and  dark  circles  drawn  around  his  eyes. 
He  held  in  his  hand  a  slender  rod,  or  wand. 

The  dwarf  was  a  young  cousin  of  William  Henry's  (not 
Tommy),  and  he  did  his  part  well,  whistling,  bowing,  dan- 
cing, sneezing,  rising,  sitting,  with  a  perfectly  sober  face. 

The  showman  then  read  the  "  Narrative,"  adding  thereto 
such  ridiculous  incidents,  and  such  comical  remarks,  that  the 
audience  were  convulsed  with  laughter,  and  the  face  of  the 
dwarf  twitched  alarmingly.  These  twitchings,  he  (the  show- 
man) said,  were  not  unusual,  and  were  the  effects  of  the  sad 
occurrence  then  being  narrated.  The  closing  portions  of  the 
story  were  declaimed  in  a  powerful  voice.  He  "  acted  out " 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  251 

the  "  pole  "  and  the  "  span,"  and  at  the  third  line,  "  I  must  be 
measured  by  my  soul"  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart  in  the 
most  impressive  manner,  and  remained  in  that  position  till 
the  curtain  fell. 

After  this  "  John  Brown "  was  sung,  and  William  Henry 
was  permitted  to  roar  out  that  "  Glory  Hallelujah  "  as  loudly 
as  he  pleased. 

The  following  letter  must  have  been  written  some  time 
after  William  Henry  met  with  the  affliction  which  was  so 
touchingly  alluded  to  by  Uncle  Jacob,  as  above  related,  and 
which  that  wretched  youth  felt  could  only  be  endured  in  the 

bosom  of  his  family!   In  the  interval  it  appears  that  he  had 
• 

been  removed  from  the  Crooked  Pond  School,  and  that  Dorry 
had  left  also,  to  finish  preparing  himself  for  college  in  some 
higher  seminary  of  learning. 

William  Henry's  Letter  after  leaving  School. 

DEAK  DORRY, — 

I  did  n't  know  I  was  going  to  come  away  from  school 
so  soon  after  you  did,  but  there  was  a  new  High  School 
begun  in  our  town  about  a  mile  and  a  half  off,  and  my 
father  thought  I  could  learn  there,  and  learn  to  farm  it 
some  too.  But  I  don't  think  much  of  farming  it.  Course 
't  is  fun  to  see  things  grow,  after  you  've  planted  the 
seeds,  and  then  watched  'em  all  the  way  up.  My  grand- 
mother says  my  father  likes  his  corn  so  well,  that  he 
pities  it  in  a  dry  time,  and  when  a  gale  blows  it  down 
he  pities  it  as  much  as  if  he  'd  been  blown  down  himself. 
Weeds  are  enough  to  make  a  feller  mad,  coming  up  fast 
as  you  kill  'em  and  sucking  all  the  goodness  out  of  the 
ground  that  don't  belong  to  them.  Suppose  they  think 
't  is  as  much  theirs  as  anybody's. 


252  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

I  suppose  you  are  studying  away  for  college.  I  don't 
know  whether  I  wish  I  could  go  or  not.  I  guess  my 
head  would  n't  hold  all  't  would  have  to  he  put  into  it 
before  I  went,  and  in  all  that  four  years  too !  Now  I 
want  to  know  if  a  feller  can  remember  all  that  ?  I  mean 
remember  the  beginning  after  all  the  other  has  been 
piled  top  of  it?  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  be  yet.  For 
there  is  something  bad  about  everything,  Grandmother 
says,  and  I  believe  it.  Now  I  don't  want  to  be  a 
farmer,  because  't  is  hard  work  and  poor  pay,  —  in 
these  parts.  I  guess  I  should  like  to  go  to  Kansas. 
But  there  are  the  Indians  after  your  scalp,  and  fever 
and  ague,  and  grasshoppers,  and  potato-bugs,  and  bean- 
bugs,  and  army-worms  to  eat  up  everything,  and 
droughts  to  dry  up  everything,  and  floods  to  wash  it 
away,  and  hurricanes  to  blow  it  down,  and  Uncle  Jacob 
says  if  a  man  comes  through  all  these  alive,  with  a 
few  grains  of  corn,  the  man  that  wants  to  buy  'em  is  a 
hundred  miles  off!  But  my  father  says,  what  is  a  man 
good  for  that  don't  dare  to  go  to  sail  without  't  is  on  a 
mill-pond  !  For  smooth  water  can't  make  a  sailor.  And 
if  a  man  is  scared  of  lions,  how  will  he  get  through  the 
woods.  So  I  don't  know  yet  what  I  shall  be.  What 
should  you,  if  you  did  n'  go  to  college  ?  Go  into  a  store  ? 
I  tell  you,  Dorry,  that  if  I  was  a  dry-goods  clerk,  fenced 
in  behind  a  counter,  I  do  believe  I  should  ache  to  jump 
over  and  put  for  somewhere  and  go  to  doing  something. 
But  my  father  says  you  can't  always  tell  a  man  by  what 
his  business  is.  For  you  've  got  to  allow  for  head  work. 
And  because  he  sells  shoe-strings,  't  is  no  sign  he  has  n't 
got  anything  in  his  head  but  shoe-strings  ;  and  because  a 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  253 

man  drives  nails,  't  is  no  sign  he  has  n't  got  anything  but 
nails  in  his  head.  "  Now  suppose,"  says  he,  "  that  a  man 
sells  dry  goods  all  day,  can't  he  have  some  thoughts  stowed 
away  in  his  brains  that  he  got  out  of  books,  or  got  up 
himself?  And  when  he  's  walking  along  home  and  back, 
and  evenings,  can't  he  out  with  'em  and  be  thinking  'em 
over  ?  I  s'pose  't  is  n't  time  for  me  to  have  thoughts  yet, 
s'pose  they  '11  be  dropping  along  in  a  year  or  two,  "  or 
three  at  the  most,"  as  Lord  Lovell  said.  One  thing  I 
mean  to  have,  and  that  is  a  good  house  with  all  the  fix- 
ings, and  money  to  spend,  and  money  to  give  away  if  I 
want  to.  So  whatever  I  get  started  on,  I  mean  to  pitch 
in  and  shove  up  my  sleeves,  and  go  at  it.  Father  says 
I  must  be  thinking  the  matter  over,  and  not  make  my 
mind  up  right  off.  They  say  going  to  sea  is  a  dog's  life. 
I  should  like  to  go  long  enough  to  see  what  Spain  looks 
like,  and  China,  and  other  places.  Maybe  I  shall  learn 
a  trade.  Now,  for  instance,  a  carpenter's.  That  don't 
seem  much  of  a  trade.  Mostly  pounding.  But  they 
say  if  you  keep  on,  and  are  smart  at  it,  why,  you  get 
to  taking  houses,  and  then  you  are  not  a  carpenter  any 
longer,  but  a  "builder,"  and  money  comes  in. 

I  'm  going  to  let  her  rest  a  spell.  Though  I  'm  so  old 
I  can't  help  looking  ahead  some  sometimes,  to  see  where 
I  'rn  coming  out. 

Did  n't  you  feel  homesick  any  when  you  were  coming 
away  from  school  ?  I  did,  —  "  quite  some,"  as  W.  B.  used 
to  say.  I  went  round  to  all  the  places,  and  paddled  in 
the  pond,  and  lay  down  on  the  grass  to  take  one  more 
drink  out  of  the  brook,  and  climbed  up  in  the  Elm,  and 
ran  up  and  down  our  stairs  much  as  half  a  dozen 


254  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS. 

times,  without  stopping,  for  I  thought  I  never  should 
again. 

I  whittled  a  great  sliver  off"  the  base-ball  field  fence  to 
fetch  away ;  did  n't  we  use  to  have  good  times  there  ? 
Bubby  Short  gave  me  his  pocket-book,  and  I  gave  him 
mine.  They  had  about  equal,  inside.  I  went  to  bid 
Gap  per  good-by,  day  before  I  came  off,  and  gave  Rosy 
my  little  penknife. 

Then  I  went  to  bid  the  two  Betseys  good-by,  and 
they  wiped  their  eyes,  and  seemed  about  as  if  they  'd 
been  my  grandmothers,  and  said  I  must  come  to  eat 
supper  with  them  that  afternoon.  So  I  went.  Me  all 
alone !  Had  a  funny  kind  of  a  time.  We  sat  at  that 
round,  three-legged  stand,  and  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  had. 
Bannock  and  butter,  sausages,  flapjacks,  and  scalloped 
cakes.  All  set  on  in  saucers,  for  there  was  n't  much 
room.  They  had  about  supper  enough  for  forty.  For 
they  said  they  knew  their  appetites  were  nothing  to 
judge  a  hungry  boy  by,  and  I  must  eat  a  good  deal  and 
not  go  by  them,  and  kept  handing  things  to  me,  and 
every  once  in  a  while  they  'd  say,  "  Now  don't  be  scared 
of  it,  there  's  more  in  the  buttery  ?"  George!  Dorry,  I 
wish  you  i  could  have  seen  that  punkiu-pie  they  had ! 
'T  was  kept  in  a  chair,  a  little  ways  off.  I  don't  see 
what  't  was  baked  in.  The  Other  Betsey  said  that  was 
just  such  a  kind  of  a  pie  as  her  mother  used  to  make. 
I  out  with  my  ruler,  and  asked  if  I  might  measure  it 
'T  was  about  two  feet  across,  and  about  four  inches  thick. 
She  said  she  thought 't  was  a  good  time  to  make  one, 
when  they  were  going  to  have  company.  When  I  took 
my  piece  I  had  to  hold  my  ^late  in  my  hand,  for  there 


•    THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  255 

was  n't  room  on  the  stand.  They  wished  you'd  been 
there,  and  so  did  I,  and  so  would  you,  if  you  'd  seen  that 
pie.  They  did  n't  take  down  their  best  dishes,  that  we 
had  that  other  time,  but  called  me  one  of  the  family  and 
used  the  poor  ones.  I  had  to  look  out  about  lifting  up 
the  spoon-holder,  because  the  bottom  had  been  off,  once, 
and  mind  which  sugar-bowl  handle  I  took  hold  of,  for 
one  side  it  was  glued  on.  But  everything  held.  I  can't 
bear  tea,  but  they  said  't  was  very  warming  and  resting, 
and  I  'd  better.  I  guess  they  put  in  about  six  spoonfuls 
of  sugar  !  They  wanted  to  know  all  about  you,  and  said 
you  were  a  smart  fellow. 

They  wanted  me  to  take  some  little  thing  out  of  the 
store,  to  remember  them  by.  So  I  looked  and  looked  to 
find  something  that  did  n't  cost  very  much,  and  at  last  I 
pitched  upon  a  pocket-comb.  The  Other  Betsey  put  on 
her  glasses  and  scratched  a  B.  on  it,  and  said  it  could 
stand  for  the  two  of  'em.  But  I  told  her  she  better 
make  two  B.'s,  for  that  would  seem  more  like  the  Two 
Betseys,  and  she  did.  Lame  Betsey  said  one  B.  ought 
to  go  lame,  and  the  Other  Betsey  said  she  guessed  they 
both  would,  for  she  had  poor  eyesight,  and  her  hand 
shook,  and  nothing  but  a  darning-needle  to  scratch  with. 
If  I  do  break  the  comb  I  shall  keep  the  handle,  for  I 
think  the  Two  Betseys  are  tip-top.  I  wish  they  could 
come  and  see  my  grandmother.  Would  n't  the  three  of 
'em  have  a  good  time ! 

Send  a  feller  a  letter  once  in  a  while,  can't  ye  ?  Say, 
now,  you  Dorry,  don't  get  too  knowing  to  write  to  a 
feller? 

Your  friend, 

WILLIAM  HENRY. 


256  THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETEERS. 

At  this  point  the  correspondence  properly  closes.  As  a 
faithful  editor,  I  have  endeavored  to  let  it  tell  its  own  story, 
but  must  frankly  acknowledge  that  at  times,  the  pleasant 
memories  recalled  by  these  Letters  have  tempted  me,  too  far, 
perhaps,  beyond  editorial  bounds.  This  fault  I  freely  con- 
fess, hoping  to  be  as  freely  forgiven.  Were  it  known  how 
much  I  have  left  unsaid,  while  longing  to  say  it,  I  should  re* 
ceive  not  only  forgiveness  but  praise. 

In  closing,  I  cannot  do  better  than  to  add  to  the  collection 
an  extract  from  a  letter  written  to  Mr.  Carver  by  the  Prin- 
cipal of  the  Crooked  Pond  School. 

It  seems  that  William  Henry's  new  teacher  proposed  his 
taking  up  Latin,  and  that  Mr.  Carver  being  somewhat  unde- 
cided about  the  matter,  wrote  to  the  Principal  of  the  Crooked 
School,  asking  his  opinion.  The  Principal's  reply,  in  as  far 
as  it  discusses  the  Latin  question,  would  scarcely  be  in  order 
here.  But  the  closing  portion  will,  I  know,  be  read  with 
pleasure  by  all  who  have  taken  an  interest  in  William  Henry. 
He  speaks  of  him  thus  :  — 

".  .  .  .  Allow  me,  sir,  in  concluding,  to  congratulate 
you  on  the  .many  good  qualities  of  your  son.  He  is  one 
of  the  boys  that  I  feel  sure  of.  We  regret  exceedingly 
his  leaving  us,  and  I  assure  you  that  he  carries  with  him 
the  best  wishes  of  all  here,  —  teachers,  pupils,  and  towns- 
people. I  shall  watch  his  course  with  deep  interest.  A 
boy  of  his  manly  bearing,  kind  disposition,  and  high 
moral  principle  will  surely  win  his  way  to  all  hearts,  as 
he  has  done  to  ours. 

With  regard  to  his  studies,  though  not,  perhaps,  a  re- 
markably brilliant  scholar,  he  has,  on  the  whole,  done 
well.  For  the  first  few  months,  it  is  true,  we  rather  de- 
spaired of  awakening  an  interest.  He  was  too  fond  of 


THE  WILLIAM  HENRY  LETTERS.  257 

play,  too  unwilling  to  come  under  our  pretty  strict 
discipline.  Observing  how  heartily  he  entered  into  all 
games,  and  that  he  excelled  in  them,  it  occurred  to  us, 
that  if  the  same  ambition  and  pluck  shown  on  the  play- 
ground could  be  aroused  in  the  schoolroom,  our  object 
would  be  gained.  This,  by  various  means,  we  have  tried 
to  accomplish,  and  I  am  happy  to  add,  with  good  suc- 
cess. Your  son,  sir,  is  a  boy  to  be  proud  of. 
Very  truly  yours, 


It  so  happened  that  I  called  at  the  Farm  the  very  day  on 
which  this  reply  was  received,  and  just  as  Grandmother  had 
finished  reading  it. 

As  I  entered  the  room  she  looked  up,  and  without  speaking 
handed  me  the  letter.  Tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  I  saw 
that  something  had  touched  her  deeply. 

"  Any  bad  news  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  in  a  tremulous  voice.  "  But  to  think 
01  that  schoolmaster's  finding  out  what  was  in  that  child  1 ' ' 


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